Muted Words
by ValleyA
Summary: Peter is sent to retrieve some sequestered witnesses to testify against the wealthy son of prominent businessman. A young boy's trauma touches Peter in a way he never anticipated while trying to keep him alive.
1. Chapter 1

1

**"Muted Words"**

by Valleya

**Chapter One**

"Colliding Hearts"

"Look, Paul, I've stacks of work to do! Huge stacks!" Detective Peter Caine slammed an armload of case files on top of his police captain's desk for emphasis. "I can't go traipsing around the countryside just to transport a couple of witnesses back here to testify. I'm a cop, not a babysitter!"

Running a wild hand through his hair, Peter continued, "People are depending on me to be here to do my job! I've got things to do! Lots of important things!"

He smashed a hand against the teetering pile of reports, and then resumed his frenetic pacing. "I-I can't just pick up and leave at the drop of a hat! No...I'm sorry, but you're just gonna have to give this assignment to someone else."

Peter's arms were unusually animated as he spoke before he paused for a quick inhalation of breath. Before he could rant on, Captain Paul Blaisdell interrupted.

"That's enough, Detective! You hear me? Enough!" Blaisdell's rich baritone voice boomed in his small office.

Peter was certain it had carried out into the bullpen area, too. Not that Peter cared about who heard their heated argument. Nothing seemed to matter to him since his father had taken off a week earlier without even a good-bye to him. Peter had spent the past few weeks planning a special surprise for his father, now completely ruined by his father's unanticipated absence.

Caine's disappearances always had a negative influence on him, but this time he had set a nonstop pace in an attempt to silence his burning heart. It seemed the more his fatigue grew, the harder he pushed himself to keep going. Worse, he also expected the same level of activity from those working with him.

"You aren't listening to me, Paul!" Peter shouted.

"I am listening to you, Peter! Just as I always do! You said you can't go right now because you have work to do. Because people are depending on you. Because you can't just pick up and leave without warning."

Peter watched as Paul rose from his perch at the corner of his desk. The normally

even-tempered Captain slowly walked towards his detective, the rich timbre of Paul's voice resonating in the small office as he recited Peter's litany of reasons against accepting the assignment.

Abruptly, Peter found himself with Paul in his face, holding a finger to his chest and speaking in a low, menacing tone which told him that Blaisdell's temper had flared during those brief steps.

"I heard it all, son, every word. Now, you listen to me. You'll be back here in no time at all. You won't be letting anyone down by being gone for a day or two. This is not a situation where you'll disappear for an ungodly length of time while your loved ones have no idea where you are or what the hell you are doing! Dammit, Peter, you are not your father!"

To Peter's ears, it seemed Blaisdell's words not only rocked the interior of the office, but the very foundation of the precinct itself. His head jerked up and a fist clenched in automatic response to Paul's statement. His eyes darted away for a moment as he struggled to control his emotions.

Peter whirled and slammed a fist into a nearby file cabinet, instead of his foster father's face, rattling the windows lining the office and knocking items atop the cabinet all askew. Peter reached for the door, but before he could fling it open, there was a firm grip clasped over his outstretched wrist.

"Peter, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way..."

Peter couldn't meet his Paul's gaze for a fear of losing what little control he possessed as he pressed his aching hand against his side, well away from Paul's view. Pity was the last thing he wanted right then.

In a low, bitter voice, he said, "Sure you did, _'Dad'! _You know, for a second there, I thought I was wearing Kermit's sunglasses...because you were looking mighty green to me. Heard jealousy can do something like that, even to a good man!"

Peter broke free of Paul's grip with an abrupt jerk. Before Blaisdell could utter another word, Peter stormed from the office. His vision was a haze of red fury blinding him to everything except the front door to the precinct.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Paul Blaisdell stared at the doorway with his mouth agape. Peter's harsh words echoed in his heart and mind. The caustic tone had frozen him in a pose of regretful paralysis. He knew he should have followed Peter outside, or at least tried to call him back, but he remained unable to move from his office. Finally, he closed the door, seeking solace in the solitude there.

Paul squeezed his eyes shut as he stood with his palm still against the door jamb, wishing he could have retrieved his unthinking words before they had the chance to wound Peter's heart so deeply.

Unfortunately, his son's acrid reply had been partially true, but not in the way Peter was thinking. Paul was jealous, but not of Caine's presence. Rather, he was jealous of Peter's limitless capacity for forgiveness for his natural father, who continually placed his duty to the community, to his religion, and to the entire world...everything, it seemed, was above the needs of his own son.

Paul's eyes wandered to the filing cabinet positioned by the door. A cabinet which now had a slight indentation in its side from the force of Peter's blow. His fingers traced the dent as he released a long breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. The breath caught in his chest as he spied a toppled picture frame. Reaching forward, he righted the treasured photograph.

It was one of his favorites taken on the day of Peter's graduation from the police academy. Many pictures had been taken that day with family and friends who had attended the ceremony, but the one Blaisdell chose to display in his office was of just the two of them. Both father and son were smiling so broadly, it was difficult to determine which of them was more proud.

Picking up the picture and moving to his leather desk chair, Paul sat down heavily and stared at the photo, trying to bring back the good feelings so apparent in that happier snapshot of life. Back then, no one could have guessed the impossible scenario in which fate brought the return of Kwai Chang Caine into Peter's life.

He could almost hear Annie's voice in his mind, quietly saying the right words to calm the maelstrom swirling in his gut. He started replying to her imagined presence aloud, "Hmm, Annie, Peter was so happy to have his father back in his life...And who could blame him? I know how I'd have felt if I had been in his place. Up to that point, I had always felt such a bond to Peter. Something I didn't think would ever be broken."

He paused as he put his emotions into words. "Remember what you told me after Caine returned and I said I was nothing more to Peter than a third wheel now? You said that Peter would always need me...Huh, I doubt if he needs me now. Probably never wants to lay eyes on me again...

"I always swore I'd never hurt him the way Caine's done in the last year with his unexplained disappearances, but I just did the same thing to him with words. Dammit! It came out with hardly any effort at all!"

Rapping his knuckles against the arm of his chair, he shook his head in disbelief. More appalling to Paul than anything else in their argument was the way he had spewed his anger to Peter about his father. No matter what the man did, he was still Peter's father and Peter loved him deeply. Blaisdell always worked to maintain a certain level of respect in what he said to Peter about Caine.

It wasn't easy, but the payoff was enormous. He still held Peter's love and trust...until now. In a way, Paul's infraction had done far more damage than anything Kwai Chang had ever done to the young man.Paul set the picture frame down carefully on his desk as he stood and approached his office window, noticing Peter's car still parked on the street.

"Is this the same way it happens for Caine?" he wondered grimly."One thing leading to another and the bottom line turns out being Peter bearing the brunt of the encounter? Oh, Annie, what have I done to our son?"

His mental image of Annie didn't have an answer for him, only words of comfort, but she went quiet after a moment.

"What's that Bible verse? Let he who is without sin cast the first stone? Well, Kwai Chang Caine, I certainly can't throw the first stone today. Peter, wherever you are, please forgive me."

**oOoOoOoOo**


	2. Chapter 2

1

**Chapter Two**

"Mending Fences"

With coat in hand, Paul headed for the precinct's front door, only to be blocked by Frank Strenlich.

"Captain?" Something in Strenlich's tone caused Paul to halt his clipped pace. His eyes narrowed as he noticed Frank had successfully blocked his path.

"I don't have time to talk right now, Chief. I'll be back–" Blaisdell attempted to step past the Chief of Detectives. Strenlich, an ex-marine, was a big guy, even by casual standards. When he wanted to be in a person's way, he could easily do it.

Lowering his voice, Strenlich's compassion for Paul's situation came through in his tone. "Captain, I hate to bother you with this, especially now, but it's the Crowder matter...You wanted to be notified the moment-"

Strenlich's dedication to duty came at a cost when Blaisdell exploded with uncharacteristic anger. "I said I don't have time for that right now, Chief! Is there something wrong with your hearing?" Paul said with more anger and volume than intended.

The bullpen came to a dead stop and the normally bustling area was now quieter than the local mortuary. Its occupants were intent observers of the unfolding drama between their ranking officers. Even the phones went silent, as if holding their breath at the unfolding confrontation.

Frank stood tightlipped, not saying a word. He only held out the file in his hand so that Blaisdell could read its cover.

Paul's expression shifted when he finally read the file in his face. Abruptly, he was at a loss for words. Swearing silently, Paul pulled off his overcoat and threw it into his office. He snatched the paperwork from Frank's extended hand without another word as he bounded upstairs to deal with the offending matter.

Paul begrudgingly concluded his administrative duties, though they seemed to go on forever. For one brief moment, he contemplated another delay to find Strenlich and make amends. Yet, he was more deeply disturbed by the way he had left things with Peter and the stronger compulsion won out. He would seek out Frank later. There was a pressing apology to take care of first.

So, nearly thirty minutes after Peter had stormed out of his office, Paul Blaisdell exited the precinct with one purpose in mind. He paused for a moment after stepping out into the chilly December air, jingling his keys in one hand. He chewed on his lower lip as he considered what to do next.

_'Where the hell would Peter go while spitting mad at me and his father gone?'_

Pulling his heavy coat closer around him, his thoughts gravitated towards to the ugly scene that had caused Peter to be so angry in the first place.

_'He's probably long gone by now,' _Paul thought despondently as small clouds of mist formed with his every exhalation. _'Yet, his car is still in the parking lot...'_

Over the din of the busy street in front of him, Blaisdell heard a regular and almost familiar rhythm, a thumping sound not normally present in the daily street noise. Paul ambled in the general direction of the side parking lot, following a detective's hunch tempered with years of a father's knowing ways.

In a far corner, almost obscured by a huge trash dumpster, Paul saw the top of a well recognized brown-haired head. He maintained his course, but increased his pace with his discovery. Moving quietly, Paul came to a stop as he watched Peter working out in rolled-up shirt sleeves despite the cold temperatures.

Once again, Peter slammed his hockey stick against the puck with an audible grunt of effort. The battered piece of rubber ricocheted off the graffiti-laden brick wall and he dove for it again, never pausing for the slightest break.

His shirt clung to his chest, soaked through with perspiration. Obviously, he'd beaten the heck out of the defenseless hockey puck until it was now dented and deformed. Paul frowned. It didn't take the wisdom of Solomon to understand the puck represented his head, struck in effigy, much like the file cabinet back in his office. Then again, abusing a hockey puck was much preferred to abusing another person.

_'Especially when that other person could be me,'_ Paul thought with a sarcastic chuckle.

Peter paused to steady his ragged breathing, and then Paul saw him catch a glimpse of his presence. Mouthing a litany of swear words before turning away, Peter was apparently attempting to gather his emotions as he stood with his back to Paul.

One hand flexed open and closed in an exercise of futile indecision as Paul stepped closer to his son, but then he hesitated. His only thoughts were of reconciliation and apology as he thought, _'Peter, what are you thinking? If I could only see your face, I'd know what to do. You can be such an open book to me at times like these...All I need is a quick glance and I'd know.' _

When Peter remained immobile, apparently fixated on the brick wall before him, Paul bent over and picked up his son's hastily discarded pullover sweater and jacket as a peace offering to break the awkward moment.

Even though the sun shone through overcast clouds, snow had been predicted for later in the day. Once Peter had stopped his frantic exercise, Paul could see his limbs tremble with the air's chill. Clearing his throat, he offered the outstretched clothing to Peter. "Son..."

The spell of indecision which had held Peter in place seemed broken by the sound of Paul's voice. Peter glanced over his shoulder, and then hastily snatched the clothing from Paul's hand. He spun around, looking ready to storm away again.

Clasping a firm hand on Peter's shoulder, Paul felt the young man stiffen, and he realized Peter's trembling wasn't just from the cold, but also from an overflowing well of anger and resentments.

"Peter, I'm so sorry. I never meant-"

Without turning around, Peter began speaking to him with outstretched hands lifted upwards. Paul heard Peter's pleading voice growing in exasperation the longer he spoke, "Why does he do it, Paul? Why? Damn it, I'm his son! I should know where he is, how he is, why he is-"

With a sudden rush of selfish relief, Paul knew in his heart that Peter's angry outburst wasn't based solely on their spat. Rather, it was the cascading flood of anger, hurt, and betrayal Peter had kept buried after he discovered Caine had left again. Those emotions had now broken through his protective barriers to burst forth anew.

It was a reaction Blaisdell had been waiting to see ever since Kwai Chang Caine had vanished. Instead, Paul had seen Peter's broken heart manifest itself as mercurial fits of anger and reckless behavior. Finally, Peter's pent-up emotions were now being expressed in a more constructive manner. At last, he was ready to talk. It had always been the first step in the healing process for Peter. Another glance at his son confirmed that and more.

A silent message from Peter's rigid body language came in the form of arms wrapped tightly around his chest. It told Paul that Peter needed more comfort to quiet his inner demons than Peter could provide for himself. Without saying another word, Paul took his son into his arms and held him there.

Peter sank into his welcomed embrace in much the same way he had as an angry young teenager. For so long, the teenaged Peter's anger was used to push the world away when in reality all Peter ever really wanted was for some portion of that world around him to open up for him.

Paul had been there for Peter since the day he took Peter away from the orphanage. Ever and always, steadfast and sure. At least, that was what Paul was hoping would be conveyed to his son through his embrace. When, at last, Peter pulled away from Blaisdell under the pretense of donning his warmer clothing, Paul watched him carefully. The young man refused to look in his direction. Some lingering bit of Peter's anger still burned, keeping a wall between them. Apparently, Paul thought with a wry smile, Peter was an equal opportunity grudge holder.

In a flash so typical to his personality, Peter changed channels in his attitude, using some internal remote control device. He shook his head and sighed as he bent to retrieve his puck. He flipped the odd-shaped thing into the air and caught it deftly as he leaned against the nearby wall. Tossing it up higher this time, he watched it hang briefly in the frigid air before it dropped into his waiting hand again.

Paul followed him to the wall and leaned against it too, seeking some support from the sturdy building, feeling a little spent himself from the intense display of feelings he had just witnessed. Flipping the puck in a seemingly carefree manner, Paul noted Peter's face was still flushed from his emotional outburst and exertion, but also from the chilling temperatures. Still, neither man said a word for several moments, both afraid to say the wrong thing.

Finally, Paul spoke in a soft voice, "He loves you, Peter. You know that, right?"

Peter went from standstill to a human dynamo with that statement. "Hell, yes, I know that! But if he loves me-Why does he do this to me? It drives me nuts every damned time he does it!" Peter shouted as he threw the puck against the asphalt pavement.

When the puck ricocheted off Peter's shin in a show of inanimate retribution, he winced and bit his lip. Paul rubbed his mouth to mask his quick smile.

After Peter's curses halted, Paul spoke softly, "I know, son, I know it's upsetting for you, but you have no more control over your father's actions than you do over the setting sun. You have to accept that and leave it be while knowing the love you two share for each other is truly a miraculous thing."

Peter nodded as he rubbed his shin before finally dropping his leg. "Paul, I try so hard to accept things and let them go, but I never really seem to. I just don't understand it."

Paul felt himself break into a broad smile. "Peter, you've never let go of a single thing of importance in your life that didn't have your fingernail marks deeply imbedded in it by the time you were done...It's just a part of your nature not to give up on things you care about. Part of that natural tenacity which makes you such an exceptional detective.

"We are what we are. I can tell you that you need to accept a certain situation and leave it be, but it's a whole other ball of wax to be able to do it myself. So, we sit. We talk. Then, we just do the best we can with what we have."

Paul patted Peter on the arm as he finished and gave him an understanding smile. Peter's head bounced up and he stared at him, as if seeing him for the first time since he stormed out of the precinct earlier.

"God, Paul, I'm so sorry. Here you are trying to make me feel better and I never even apologized for what I said...for what I almost did in your office. I–I..."

'Peter, after knowing you for fifteen years, do you honestly think I would believe you capable of striking me over...words? No, our bond is greater than that."

He wrapped a loving hand around Peter's neck and shook him gently. Then he released his hold to pick up Peter's slightly swollen hand, already darkened with newly formed bruises.

The younger man flinched. Blaisdell, who knew his chosen son so well, also knew Peter's involuntary movement was not so much out of pain, but more from embarrassment. Paul's fingers gently rubbed over the injured area, and then he sighed when he remembered how badly he had handled things earlier. As if in automatic response, he heard Peter sigh in a rushed huff.

Paul didn't have Caine's gift of knowing other people's thoughts, but he was sure Peter was mentally kicking himself for allowing his anger to leave such a blatant visual reminder. Something to be seen by Paul at any time, serving as a constant example of his poor behavior.

Blaisdell sought out Peter's troubled gaze. "No, son. I should be the only one apologizing here. I don't know where that damned speech of mine came from, but I think you were right."

Licking his slightly chapped lips, Paul continued, "You were red hot with anger and said I appeared green, but, that wasn't it. I was seeing green. The pure and simple green of jealousy. What a God-awful thing that is," Paul muttered, as if his words had left a nasty taste in his mouth.

Peter shook his head before smiling with an enigmatic grin which reminded Paul so much of Kwai Chang. "Dad, do you know how lucky I am? I mean, for a guy to have just one father he can love and cherish is an amazing thing anymore. But I've got two. That's gotta be pretty damned confusing for you on levels I haven't even thought of yet. Hell, it's confusing enough for me! Our family dynamics are not the norm. If your nerves get a little frazzled, especially when dealing with me and my temper tantrums, well...all I can say is that it's justified. And you were right, you know."

Shaking his head for a moment, Peter continued, "I am not my father. Not by a long shot. In both the good ways and the bad. We were made from different molds. I admire the hell out of the way he can help people...and the things he can do just blows my mind. I love him so much it actually hurts me sometimes, but I can never be Kwai Chang Caine.

"Still, I can do a pretty good job of being Peter Caine. I have you to thank for that. For keeping my head straight long enough for Pop and I to connect again. But we shouldn't be arguing over stuff like that."

Peter sighed deeply, then continued, "All I can say to make up for-for what happened earlier is to say I love you, Dad. More than words can ever say."

He gave Paul another hug. This time, Paul felt Peter's arms tighten around him, but it had a different feel to it. Not a clutch of fear. Not a brisk brush of anger and resentment. No, this one exuded love and appreciation through its hold. Peter sighed with the obvious depth of his gratitude, and then he straightened slightly. "If you still want me to go on that assignment, I will. No more complaints about it, I promise."

Peter's voice was gentle and loving, revealing nothing but a willingness to make this father proud of him. Peter pulled back to look directly into Paul's face. Blaisdell was relieved to see that familiar twinkling of mischief make its reappearance in Peter's playful expression.

Paul cleared his throat before saying, "Might be a good idea for you to get out of town for a day or two. Get a fresh perspective on things. You've been doing a pretty good job of driving yourself into the ground over the last week."

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking, too."

A lopsided grin came over Peter's face before he worked to suppress it for Paul's benefit. "Besides, I think I heard Jody and Skalany plotting this morning to put rat poison in my coffee if I didn't settle down."

Paul coughed to cover an abrupt chuckle. "No, actually that was last night's plan. This morning, Blake and Kermit put together the makings of a spectacular car bomb for you. It's a good thing you didn't decide start up your car when you barreled out of the precinct."

Paul's classic poker face caught Peter's and they both dissolved into a fit of laughter.Blaisdell patted his son on the shoulder as he wiped away a tear, but this time, there were only tears of joy.

**oOoOoOoOo**

"There will be a police detective leaving from the 101st precinct tomorrow morning to transport the witnesses from their seclusion back to town, but don't bother following him from there. I know where he will be at 2 o'clock tomorrow afternoon. Your people can pick up his trail at that location.

"I'll have his personal file, along with copies of the police files on Crowfoot and Hills. There should be plenty of photos to serve you adequately. Also a description of the vehicle he'll be driving. I'll have it all sent over to your drop site via messenger within the hour. I trust you will live up to that expensive reputation of yours."

"Not a problem as long as you've transferred the agreed upon funds into our Swiss bank account," a cold voice replied in a slightly bored tone.

"Half of your fee has already been transferred; the balance will be transferred once your task is completed. You may verify their presence at your own convenience. Notify me once the deed is done."

"Will do."

There was a click on the line to signify the end of the conversation. The older, refined man looked at the expensive handset of his telephone and quietly hung it up as he wondered what exactly his vast sums of family money had purchased. He loved his son, but he felt like he had just sold his soul to the devil with this transaction. And perhaps he had.

**oOoOoOoOo**


	3. Chapter 3

1

**Chapter Three**

"Beginnings"

Peter was up before dawn due to his current assignment and definitely not by choice. He made a spur of the moment decision to swing by Lo Si's on the off chance the old man might already be up and about. As he slowed his Corvette, he was relieved to see the lights already on the old man's apartment and he quickly parked.

With winter's shorter days and longer nights, the predawn darkness weighed heavily on Peter as he entered the apartment building of Lo Si, his father's friend and mentor. He stuck his hands in the pockets of his jacket, chilled but not by the cold. It was a brush of apprehension against dwindling hope that his trip to Lo Si's would be a futile one.

Upon reaching Lo Si's apartment, he lifted his hand to knock on the door, only to see the door creak open. Lo Si's wizened face peered around its painted edge with a wide smile, as if he was expecting to find him on the other side of his door.

"Ah, young Peter, what brings you to my humble abode so early this morning?" he said with a bow before sweeping a gnarled hand away from him, indicating for Peter to enter.

"Good morning, Lo Si," Peter said respectfully as he stepped over the threshold and bowed. Though he was anxious for answers, Peter had been taught at a very young age to respect his elders, especially those as old as the man referred to by the community as 'the Ancient'.

"Please, sit, I shall pour our tea," Lo Si said as he bent to pick up the ornate tea pot and began to pour Peter's cup.

Peter knew he shouldn't be surprised by Lo Si's amazing ability of knowing the unknowable, but as he glanced at the two tea cups and the freshly steeped tea, he was dumbfoundedby the fact Lo Si had already prepared for his uncharacteristically early visit.

This time, though, Peter caught himself before stuttering a bewildered question to Lo Si. Even though Peter hadn't said the words aloud, it seemed Lo Si was smiling in silent amusement of his confusion. Or perhaps the Ancient kept a perpetually amused look on his face, Peter thought, before shaking away distractions. He had come to Lo Si for a specific purpose.

"I-I..." Peter stammered, not knowing quite how to ask Lo Si about the reason behind his visit.

The worried detective had been to the Ancient's apartment on a daily basis with his father's disappearance. Then Peter stopped going to Lo Si's when he finally admitted to himself that he was harassing the old man. He didn't know anymore about Caine than Peter did. So why was he sitting with Lo Si, politely drinking tea? He was on a fool's errand and he was tired of it.

Jumping to his feet, Peter began to head for the door, muttering rushed words of apology for bothering him. Peter didn't hear the old man stand or walk to his side, but suddenly, he was there in front of him, blocking his way to the door.

There was a gentle grip on Peter's arm as the old man said, "Peter, you desire to know if I have heard anything about your father."

Peter sighed and nodded. Lo Si led him back to the couch.

"I was going to contact you myself this morning. I was mediating during the night and finally made contact with your father. He was called away for a very important mission. One for the Dali Lama himself. Unfortunately, he could not tell me anything more than that. Other than he loves you, and that he will be home as soon as possible."

Peter had been searching for a cause behind his father's absence for over a week. Now that he actually had one, it brought him no comfort. Instead, he erupted into an explosive rage, throwing his hands up into the air.

"Oh, well, if the Dali Lama needs him...that explains everything!"

Peter bolted to his feet, rushing for the door before he realized that Lo Si had beaten him to the door once again.

_'How the hell does that little guy move so damned fast?'_Peter thought with amazement.

Lo Si touched the middle of Peter's chest with a light touch. "Peter, it brings your father no pleasure to disappoint you with his various duties and obligations," Lo Si said with a sad smile.

"Well, then that makes it okay, doesn't it, Lo Si?" Peter exclaimed and he started to move around the Ancient.

Lo Si kept his hand on Peter's chest. "I can feel your frustration and sense of abandonment within your heart..."

Peter locked onto the old man's timeless gaze and almost let his anger drop away, but then his rage flared again. Gently moving Lo Si's hand from his chest, he whispered, "Then you must be able to see that I'm tired of dealing with it. I'm leaving."

This time, Lo Si didn't block his path.

Peter twisted the doorknob, but stopped in his tracks and spun around. "No, knowing the reason behind Pop's absence doesn't make it okay!"

He wasn't shouting at Lo Si, but to some invisible remnant of Kwai Chang Caine's spirit lingering in the room. "It sucks big time! I try so hard to be the dutiful son, but Peter Caine has stopped playing the fool as far as his father's concerned. Never again!"

Having made that declaration, Peter stormed out of the room without looking back to see Lo Si's reaction to his outburst. As he barreled down the stairs, Peter felt a rushing flow of warmth and love trying to enter his angry spirit and he rejected it with all the meager Shaolin training he could muster.

He was mad and didn't want to be consoled by anyone or anything. Besides, he had a job to do before he could deal with the emotions swirling inside of him.

**oOoOoOoOo**

After the encounter at Lo Si's, Peter's day began a downward slide. His next stop was the police vehicle depot to sign out a vehicle to be used for the trip to the mountains. His lingering dark mood wasn't helped by a talkative clerk on the phone who was ignoring his presence. So Peter took off down the endless aisles of the police department fleet garage to find a comfortable car of his own choosing to take for his assignment.

Peter was startled when a commanding voice came booming from behind him. Spinning around, he was surprised to see the voice was from the same pimply-faced attendant he had been waiting on to get off the phone.

"Sorry, pal, but there's only one car available for you right now."

"What do you mean there's only one car available?" Peter asked in an incredulous tone as he waved a sweeping arm towards the sea of cars surrounding them.

The little man, who was probably five years younger than Peter, came to stand only inches away from him. The paper pusher was at least a foot and a half shorter than Peter and the detective had to look down in order to meet his gaze.

"If you had a couple'a hours to waste, buddy, I could run through the reasons why none of them are available, but I've got work to do. So are you gonna take this one or not?"

Peter looked down at the extended paperwork and pen, and then shot a disgruntled glare towards the irritating pipsqueak. His glare continued as he read the name Conrad embroidered on the man's shirt.

"Which one is it?" Peter asked with disdain, not ready to sign anything yet. There was an unspoken power struggle going on between the two of them and Peter preferred to come out on the winning side.

"The tan Crown Victoria over there," Conrad replied impatiently, still holding out the paperwork.

Ignoring the clerk and his paperwork, Peter wandered over to the car, giving the vehicle a critical eye, much like he was looking it over for purchase, instead of signing it out for a couple of days.

He looked at the tires and gave them a kick, as if the amount of bounce would tell him everything. He circled the car and smiled as he heard Conrad sigh. Finally, he opened the driver's door to the vehicle and sat down, giving the interior a quick once over.

With his hands on the steering wheel, he glanced at the odometer reading, noting the low mileage on the car. It was a fairly recent model and pretty much standard issue for a large number of police departments across the nation.

Conrad started pacing from his spot outside the car and Peter thought, with an evil rise of his eyebrow, that he would increase Conrad's aggravation before signing his damned paperwork.

Reaching to the visor above his head, he pulled out the keys placed there and inserted them into the ignition. With a quick turn, the powerful engine roared to life. Peter pumped the gas pedal several times for added effect.

"Look, Caine, either sign for the blasted car or get the hell out of here! I don't have time for you to play Indy 500 on my watch!" Conrad said as he threw the clipboard containing the paperwork onto the cement floor.

Having achieved the desired effect, Peter shrugged his shoulders and switched off the engine, and emerged from the now silent car. Peter wished Paul would have allowed him to drive his own car, but the Captain was emphatic that there had to be plenty of room for the still recovering witness to stretch out during the drive home, if need be.

For some reason, a passing thought of his explosive tantrum at Lo Si's seemed to take all of fun out of tormenting Conrad anymore and he simply signed the paperwork, handing it back to the irked attendant without further comment.

**oOoOoOoOo**

The drive took forever, Peter thought as he shifted in his seat while turning from the interstate onto a much slower state highway. Now, the car was heading towards the snow-capped mountains sprawled before him. It was one of the most sparsely populated areas of the state, but also one of the most scenic. He noticed traffic was dwindling down to practically nothing on the desolate road.

_'Pretty country, though,_' Peter admitted as he glanced out the windshield at the passing countryside.

He was trying to find a silver lining in the storm cloud which had covered his day thus far. _'Hell, a storm's covered most of my life,'_ he thought with disgust.

Peter reflected on the most irritating discovery made thirty minutes after leaving the police garage. He went to switch on the radio, only to find it nonfunctional. Nothing but white static across both the AM and FM bands generated a string of curses.

"Great! Just frigging great!" Peter exclaimed, slapping the seat beside him in frustration. Now, he was stuck on a lengthy trip and the damned radio was broken. He sighed as he tried to hum some tuneless melody to himself, knowing his heart wasn't really into singing acappello.

"Looks like it's me, myself, and I for company for a long time to come. At least until I pick up my witnesses and turn around for home. Maybe they'll have a winning conversational way about them," he said sarcastically, speaking aloud just for the noise.

Cringing at the impropriety of his last statement, Peter remembered what he had read about the young boy. Tommy Hills was an eight year-old youth who had witnessed the shooting deaths of his parents, and was still rendered mute by that trauma.

"Well, maybe the aunt will have some interesting stories."

Then he recalled reading a notation made by someone in the district attorney's office indicating Celeste Crowfoot had been very belligerent in dealing with their office, along with a total lack of cooperation. She wanted to testify, but would be safely hidden away at a place of her own choosing until the trial began.

Another note spoke slightly better of her saying she was a no-nonsense lady who took the responsibility of watching out for her young nephew more seriously than she did in tending to her own recovery.

She had survived two bullet wounds in the same attack that had killed her sister and brother-in-law. One of the bullets came very close to leaving her paralyzed. If one of the bullets had hit another fraction of an inch to the left, she would have been dead, too.

Celeste Crowfoot was the reason why Peter was silently driving in a car with a useless radio, instead of his own beloved Corvette with quadraphonic stereo and CD player. She was a witness to a high profile murder case and it was Peter's job to get her back to town safely. She didn't know it, but she was also the reason why Peter had developed the irritating habit of talking to himself in a way he usually associated with the clinically insane.

"Then again, Peter Caine, be careful what you wish for. You might wind up wishing you were alone for the trip home," he admonished himself with a slight smirk.

**oOoOoOoOo**


	4. Chapter 4

1

**Chapter Four**

"Protective Custody"

Celeste Crowfoot moved Tommy's sleeping head from her lap and slowly slid away from him. Looking around the living room of her friend's home, she stood gingerly and stretched protesting muscles and joints. Sitting in one position too long always made her pay when she moved too quickly.

She steadied her breathing from the painful reaction as tears filled her tightly closed eyes, and then escaped down the side of her face without warning. The only way she knew to comfort herself was to look at the sleeping boy who had magically become her whole life, taking her mind away from such trivial thoughts as an aching body.

Besides, the drugs the doctors wanted her to take to help deal with the pain often dulled her senses to the point where she was less available to the needs of the small form sleeping serenely before her.

Her friend came into the room with a cup of tea for Celeste and caught her with tears in her eyes. "Oh, Cel, what's the matter?" Tracy Zimmerman asked, setting the tea on the coffee table and putting a hand on her friend's shoulder.

For a moment, Celeste could only shake her head. "Sleep is the only peace he gets. Look at him, like some sleeping angel, so beautiful and innocent, so free from the sadness that weighs upon him during his waking hours."

Tracy sat on the coffee table in front of Celeste. "He's such a dear boy. No child that age should suffer what he has, but Tommy is still stuck in that terrible moment from months ago. We need to get him past that point, so that he can have a normal life again."

Celeste grunted. "Normal? How can he be normal when he doesn't even speak? Not a sound, not a single sound. Usually you are screaming at eight year-olds to keep quiet, but not my Tommy. That's the worst effect of the whole tragedy. That's what breaks my heart."

Tracy leaned closer and hugged her crying friend. "Have faith, Cel. He will get past this. They told you you'd never walk again and you're walking. He will talk when he's ready to talk and not before. Give him time, honey."

Celeste nodded and wiped at her face. "I don't know what I'd do without friends and family like you and Chris."

"You're the strongest person I've ever met. Not even Constance had that warrior spirit

you possess. I admire the hell out of you."

Celeste looked down at Tommy and brushed her fingers through his hair. "Do you see how much he looks like Connie at that age? A male version of my dear sister. She was always laughing and into mischief. I was the serious one, but she could draw me out of it in a flash. God, I miss her."

Celeste broke down into tears again.

"Here, Cel, try some of this chamomile tea."

Celeste took the cup, but didn't drink it. "I haven't cried like this since I woke up at the hospital and found out that Connie and Art were dead. Maybe it's because we've been sequestered at Ansel's place for months. Now, being down here with familiar surroundings, the grief is stronger again."

Tracy rubbed Celeste's shoulder. "Cry all you need to, honey. No one expects you to be made of stone. You've lost family. You've been disabled. You are the caretaker for a traumatized little boy. What part of all of that is easy?"

Tears welled in Celeste's eyes again.

Tracy continued, "Lean on us, Cel. That's what we're here for."

Celeste stood slowly and wandered around the living room brightly decorated for Christmas. "Maybe if I wasn't so damned angry with the fact that a powerful man with lots of money used his position to come very close to killing me, not once but on numerous occasions. That's when I decided to leave the hospital and go into hiding with Tommy until the trial. Perhaps after the trial is done, I can get pass that awful night myself and begin to live a normal life again, just as I wish for Tommy.

"But I won't trust a single stranger until I am up on that stand, testifying against the man who killed my family. I don't care if Delmar Clark's father once dined with presidents at the White House and in his home. Delmar is a murderer and no amount of money or clout will change that fact. I hope they put him on the electric chair. He committed acts demanding justice and I'm going to see justice is served."

Tracy rubbed her mouth after remaining silent during Celeste's declarations. "God help anyone who steps in your way while doing it."

Tracy's comment made Celeste chuckle, breaking up her dark mood. She gave Tracy a warm hug. "Thank you, Tracy. Thank you for all that you've done for us, and for me."

Tracy gave her a big smile. "Just wait when the tables are turned and I need your help!"

They laughed as Tracy started picking up the clutter in the living room. She came across some of Tommy's notes. Misspelled words used to communicate when the words wouldn't come from his lips. Other messages were conveyed with drawings. Even hand gestures.

Tracy knelt beside Tommy when he roused in his sleep, rubbing her hand across his back. He settled down right away. Looking up at Celeste, she whispered, "He does have Connie's hair and eyes. What did you call her when we were growing up? Wolf girl?"

Celeste chuckled. "Yes, Wolf Girl was the name I used when I was mad at her. I called her Moonshine on those late nights where we were quietly talking and giggling instead of sleeping. She had so many nicknames, but I looked deep into her eyes, I saw the good in me that I might never have noticed on my own. We were two sides of the same coin, and never intended to be parted, even though we were so different in appearance.

"She had silver-gray eyes and thick silvery-blonde hair like a wolf's coat. And I had the dark skin, hair, and eyes. Papa used to call us Day and Night. To be so different, it's amazing we were so close."

"Day and Night. I remember that."

Tracy smiled at the memories. She was still beside Tommy and rubbed his arm before standing. "It's a miracle that he wasn't shot or killed with the rest of you."

Celeste felt her heart fill with sadness again. "He was always our miracle baby. The doctor said Connie couldn't have children, and then he came along. He became another miracle when he escaped the shooting without a scratch.

"I just wish I had more experience with children. I never married, never had kids, and now I have one, but I only wish I could reach him."

Tracy reached forward and touched Celeste's arm. "But you have, Cel. When he's having nightmares, you're the only one who can calm him down. When he's scared, you're the only one he wants to be with. You have connected. You just need to give love, time, and God the room to work in your lives. I swear Tommy will come back to his old self again. Not without scars, but he will be the boy we all loved."

Celeste stretched to reach for her cane and cringed when stiff muscles protested.

Getting the cane for Celeste, Tracy caught her friend's pained gaze and latched onto it. "If there was only one thing I could tell you, Cel, it's that you need to be back in physical therapy as soon as possible. You were walking much better in the hospital after the shooting than you are now."

"I had no choice. They tried to kill me and might have gone after Tommy. We had to get away quickly. I do okay most days, but when I sit too long, I feel it."

"Well, why don't you go take a nice hot bath and I'll carry Tommy up to his bed?"

Celeste smiled. "Sounds wonderful. You're spoiling me."

"Who else should I spoil? You've been my best friend through all of these years. Spoiling you brings me pleasure and makes me feel like I'm helping out in some small way."

"Some small way? Just by being here, I could be putting you and Chris in danger. That's no small contribution, but we will be gone in a few days and you'll be safe again."

"Shhh," Tracy said as she ushered Celeste to the bathroom. "Go soak a while. I'll be here when you get out."

Celeste nodded, but took one last look at Tommy before she left the room.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Celeste climbed into bed after another long talk with Tracy, but couldn't sleep. Not when memories of that fateful day came back for their nightly replay...

When Connie had invited her to join them for a live production of "Singing in the Rain" at a popular dinner theater, Celeste looked forward to the outing. Since it was a Saturday night, Tommy had been allowed to go with them. After the play was over, they slowly made their way toward their car, savoring the pleasurable evening.

"What did you think of the play, Tommy," Connie asked.

"It was awesome, Mom! I want to see it again!" he replied with excitement.

Celeste shook her head. "Yes, he is definitely your son with a passion for live theater."

Celeste and Connie watched as Tommy raced ahead with his father. The two males were always involved in some type of competition. The sisters strolled behind them at a more leisurely pace, both of them regretting their order of tiramisu for dessert.

"Dinner was so nice, but I should have passed on dessert," Celeste complained.

"And missed heaven on earth? It was worth feeling a little overstuffed," Connie said as she patted her stomach.

"Heaven on earth? A bit on the dramatic side, isn't it?"

"Well, we just came from a play. I'm entitled," she said, as she took her sister's arm in hers.

Rounding a corner, they soon found the absent male members of their party standing at the edge of a water fountain. Father and son were taking turns as they made wishes and tossed coins into the spraying water, as if each and every one wish had the capability of becoming real if they only wished hard enough.

Not to be left out, the two women chuckled to themselves as they reached into their handbags and retrieved coins for making their own wishes.

"Okay, no more coins. Let's hit the road," Connie said, still smiling from the wish-making.

They were almost to their car when they were accosted by a wide-eyed, disheveled young man ranting long streams of utter nonsense, threatening them in a paranoid manner. Art Hill stepped forward to put himself between his family and the possibly dangerous antagonist.

His simple protective act provoked the young man for some unknown reason. The intoxicated man pulled a gun and began shooting. He didn't stop until the gun was emptied.

The killer was picked up a short time later, out of his mind on a methamphetamine high and oblivious to the real world around him. In his drug-induced dementia, he had managed to lose the murder weapon, but his description matched one given by a passing witness who saw him, but not his face, before running to aid the injured and dying victims.

Celeste remembered hearing the man's account of how Tommy was found screaming inconsolably for help as he held onto the lifeless hands of his deceased parents. Tommy had survived, physically unharmed, because he had been shielded by Art and Connie's bodies, but his injuries ran deep within.

Nothing penetrated his self-erected barriers until Celeste started talking words of love and encouragement, stories about growing up with Uncle Ansel and the magical forest where he lived, anything that might spark a sign of interest as she held him in her arms for hours on end. Slowly, the boy started coming out of his shell, but still gave no indication of ever wanting to speak again.

The man arrested for multiple counts of first degree murder was Delmar Clark, the son of Wilson Cooper Clark. The financial and political clout of the elder Wilson was enough to have his son released from jail even before the drugs saturating his system were eliminated by his body.

No one from the district attorney's office had seen Celeste face-to-face in several months, but she did send their office numerous e-mails from masked web sites, assuring them of her intentions to testify at the scheduled trial.

Celeste turned over, trying to stop the memories from coming, but knew there was nothing she could do to stop them. She took a drink of water from the glass on her night stand and moved again, trying to find a comfortable position in the unfamiliar bed, but she knew sleep wouldn't come. Not for a very long time.

**oOoOoOoOo**


	5. Chapter 5

1

**Chapter Five**

"Road Stop"

Peter finally arrived at the first of a series of stops he was to make before the day was out. Before him were three buildings scattered around the lonely road stop. The lack of upkeep on the buildings indicated there wasn't a lot of money pouring into the three businesses. A gas station, a diner, and a flea bag hotel. Peter sighed as he looked around the shoddy gas station for the phone booth he was to receive a telephone call precisely at 2 o'clock.

The young detective was irked by the fact that he was expected to make at least three more stops on this trip. At each stop, he would receive more instructions on how to proceed to the next phone call until he eventually wound up at the location of his hidden witnesses. It was all done to ensure no one was following him.

"Geez, we aren't talking about a money drop-off for a high stakes kidnapping here!" he complained out loud as he ran a gloved hand through his hair.

Peter parked the car beside the phone booth and looked at his watch again. He still had another forty-five minutes to waste before his call would come through. His hands already felt chilled with the motor switched off, despite his insulated gloves. He caught himself in the act of puffing on his gloved hands, as if that would warm them while he decided what to do next.

Glancing across the way, he smiled. The little Mom & Pop diner suddenly held a great deal of appeal to him. Peter had a special affection for diners. Some of the most satisfying food in the world could be found in those little hole-in-the-wall establishments, places most of the world shunned as 'greasy spoons'.

Leaving the car parked where it was, he strode toward the diner with a purpose, mainly because his stomach had rumbled to life. It was enough of a distraction that he hardly noticed the chill to the air anymore.

While waiting for an elderly couple to exit from the entrance of the diner, Peter glanced around at the cloudy sky and wondered if it would start snowing before he finished eating.

At last, his path into the diner was clear, so he entered in anticipation of good eats, but his eyes had trouble adjusting to the dark interior lighting.

He pulled off his sunglasses and slowed down until he could see better, but he still ran into the back of a solidly built man blocking the inner doorway. Immediately, Peter uttered sincere apologies, but not fast enough to stop the surprised and sputtering man from launching into a steady stream of expletives.

The fellow spun around with fire in his eyes and a threat on his lips. He was pulling at his shirt and pants, trying to pull the garments away from his skin before the spilt hot coffee could burn him.

He stared angrily at a stain of dark fluid running down the front of his clothing, then at the source for the mess, namely one Peter Caine. Peter was so upset about ruining the man's clothing, he didn't notice the pure look of death being glared at him.

"Ah, geez, I'm sorry about that!" Peter exclaimed.

Peter was so focused entirely on the clothing and not on the man, but somewhere following the collision, there was an inexplicable shift in the man's expression.

"Don't worry about it, pal," the man said briskly, clearly anxious to be away from Peter.

"That jacket will have to be dry cleaned. Man, I'm sorry. Here, let me give you something to pay-"

Peter was reaching into his wallet when something in the man's next words caused him to stop in mid-stream. The stranger's harsh tone differed from the understandable anger uttered only moments earlier.

"Listen, I said it's okay!"

Peter finally noticed the hard edge in the man's voice. His eyes suddenly narrowed as his trained detective senses picked up on a dozen clues in the man's rigid body language, attire, and manner; all telling him the man was dangerous and warranted a greater portion of his attention.

Another man appeared behind the first man. This one was blonde and tall, a sharp contrast to the coffee-soaked friend who was dark-haired and medium build. He was pushing forward, urging the man before Peter to move on.

"Really, I insist," Peter said coolly as he reached forward with a twenty dollar bill, still eyeing both men with suspicion.

The reaction was purely based on telltale signs and quickly exchanged glances between the two men. Peter had a gut feeling that these two were the type of men he'd avoid crossing in a dark alley. He still had his hand out with the money, but he knew it wouldn't be accepted. Both men weren't concerned with twenty dollar bills. They had the feel of tainted money, obtained from illegal actions, and involving thousands of dollars.

"It was all my fault. Shouldn't have been standing there blocking the entryway," muttered the burly man as they pushed past Peter and out the door.

Peter walked over to a curtained window beside the door and pulled back the heavy fabric to peer out. The two had made it out to their vehicle, a late model black Ford Explorer with gold trim and climbed inside in a hurry. Peter couldn't see anymore beyond than that due to the darkly tinted windows of the popular SUV.

He let the curtains drop back into place. As he did so, he lost track of everything around him as he stewed over the encounter. He found himself standing in place, unable to move further into the diner. Instead, there was an irritating tickle scratching at the back of his mind as he replayed the details of the two men's strange reactions moments before.

Stepping to the heavy wooden door, Peter opened it partway while still staying just inside the diner's doorway. He glanced out in time to see the Explorer barreling out of the parking lot, as if it was on its way to a four-alarm fire.

Peter reached into his shirt pocket, pulling out a small notebook and pen to jot down the SUV's license number. Then he noticed there was a heavy buildup of mud over the license plate, either accidentally or on purpose.

Slapping the notepad against the yawning door, Peter stood in indecision, wondering if the situation warranted taking off after the Explorer with only the vaguest of hunches for justification.

"Hey, buddy, either come in or go out, but do one of them pronto! It costs too much to heat this blasted place for you to just stand there with your thumb up your-," A man with a shaved head barked at Peter from behind the cash register, his burnt-out cigar dangling precariously from his lips, but stopped when he saw Peter's head jerk to attention.

The upset man appeared to be a cook by his attire. He had one of those faces that could be twenty-five or forty-five years old, nearly impossible to determine by sight alone. By his belligerent stance, the cook and part-time door monitor was ready for a confrontation if Peter chose to stand with the door ajar.

"Okay, okay, the door's closed. Satisfied?" Peter grumbled with more irritation than the situation required, wishing the heavy door would have a resounding slam to show his displeasure, but it could not. Peter shoved the pad and pen back to his pocket before glancing back to the closed door one more time.

Belatedly, he thought again about the bellicose cook. When he swung around in the direction of the cash register again, the cook had disappeared from view and Peter was left staring at an unattended Christmas paper-wrapped counter top, complete with a miniature Santa in his sleigh and a full complement of reindeers perpetually ready for take off.

Shrugging, Peter ambled towards an empty table as he reconsidered his idea about calling the precinct. _'Yeah, right...The Chief would just tell me I've spent too much time around Kermit and to not be so paranoid. Well, no, he wouldn't say that, but still...'_

He seated himself in a well-worn, orange vinyl-covered booth with his back to the wall and his eye on the door, all done subconsciously as he was still in his 'on the job' mode of thinking. His worried thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of an animated gray-headed waitress arriving at his table only seconds after sitting down.

"Wanna look at a menu, sugar?" the gum-chewing server asked saucily as she set down a glass of water, a set of silverware, and paper napkin, pulling a menu from under her arm.

"Sure," Peter replied, flashing her a smile as he pushed his concerns to the back of his mind.

"How about somethin' hot to drink? Ya look like ya need somethin' to warm those bones of yours and I'm afraid I'm too busy at the moment to accommodate a young hunk like yourself, darlin'."

Her natural flirting way jostled Peter from his silent musings. Had she been someone closer to his own age, her flirtatious words would have gained his undivided attention, especially given the fact that she was genuinely attractive. Unfortunately, she also appeared old enough to be his grandmother, but she didn't seem to have any inhibitions about age in choosing potential sexual partners. In fact, she gave every indication she'd be more than willing to jump his bones right then and there.

Peter looked up into her aquamarine irises which sparkled with an inner humor and caring. He smiled inwardly as she gave him her best shit-eating grin. The lady had character and moxey, he had to give her that much.

As he assessed her true spirit with a mixture of police experience and Shaolin senses, he decided he had taken a liking to her. Even with her decadent carnal thoughts being telegraphed to him with her every glance.

"Well, I don't know about that...Millie," he said as he read her name from her plastic name tag, "but how about a cup of black coffee to start off with?"

He winked at her as he placed his order.

"I bet ya just kill the ladies dead with that wink of yours, sugar. Add in those puppy dog eyes and that scrumptious smile and I'm sure as shootin' willin' to bet there's not a one of those ladies back where ya come from who could say no to ya."

Not only was Peter taken aback by her forwardness, but it was so intense and unexpected that he found himself blushing from her direct attention. He decided he had better change the subject before she noticed he was blushing and pounced on it. He liked her, but he wasn't willing to become her next sexual conquest.

"It's, uh, it's not quite that easy, Millie, but thanks for the compliment. Um...what do you recommend on the menu?" Peter asked, looking at the laminated menu with great interest.

"The beef stew, darlin'...It's fresh and made from my momma's own recipe," the woman exclaimed. "It must be pretty cold out there, because if I didn't know better, I'd say you were blushing."

Busted. She had him pegged. Peter cleared his throat, and focused once again on the menu. "Yeah, it's pretty cold," he said without looking up at her.

"Uh, your suggestion sounds great. I'll have that," Peter said in a flash of decisiveness, feeling the need to put some distance between him and the admiring waitress. He handed her back the menu while still feeling the remnants of the burning sensation in his face.

"Ya better bet ya will and you'll have a piece of my cherry pie for dessert!"

Peter was startled by her command, but considered her choice. Peter thought beef stew, a cup of coffee, and some cherry pie sounded like just the thing to gird him against the cold. He nodded to indicate his approval of her suggestions while still avoiding direct eye contact with her.

"Oh, darlin', ya are just too cute! I'd pinch your cheek if I didn't have my hands so danged full!" she exclaimed, her arms already filled with the dirty dishes of a nearby table before heading off through a swinging door, saving Peter from having to think up some type of embarrassed response.

When the older woman returned through the still swinging door, the words 'human dynamo' came to Peter's mind. She whisked through the small, but busy diner to deliver a steaming meal to a trucker and his wife. As she breezed back by his direction again, Peter called to her. "Say, Millie, the men who just left here...You don't know them, by chance, do you?"

"Ya mean that no account fellow who's wearin' his coffee now cuz of ya and his silent friend?" she declared with a teasing smile, still gazing at Peter too closely for him to relax completely.

"Yeah, that's them," Peter said, feeling like he was trying to have a conversation with a high school girl he had a crush on. Back then, he'd always been so shy, he was constantly finding himself tongue-tied. He never thought he'd ever be able to carry on a complete verbal exchange with any of them.

"Nope, never seen them around here before. But they are bad eggs, that's for sure. I'd steer clear of them, if I was you. Dangerous like a cornered coyote, they've got the feel of dark times around them. Terrible tippers too," she said as she left him, totally unaware of the significance of her words as she was on the move once again to fetch his coffee.

Peter rubbed his chin and ran over the Crowfoot/Hills case file again in his head. The men didn't match any of the photos included in the file he'd been given. He sighed as he saw Millie speed towards him with a welcomed cup of steaming coffee.

_'The man was probably just some poor schmuck upset over spilled coffee. Yeah, right, and how many times will I have to tell myself that one before I start believing it!'_

**oOoOoOoOo**


	6. Chapter 6

1

**Chapter Six**

"The Maze"

After being lead around the countryside, Peter found the next two isolated pay phones and received the additional instructions as he'd been told to expect. The bored detective stomped around the lonely area of the third location in order to keep himself warm against the stubborn late evening chill setting in. As he moved about, he mulled over his early morning encounter with Lo Si.

He was almost to the point of acknowledging of the importance of the work his father did, especially with the Dali Lama, but he couldn't convince himself it was enough to excuse his father's absence. He paced some more as he debated with himself, playing both the victim and devil's advocate in an internal dialogue.

Remembering his last words to Lo Si, Peter cringed at the level of disrespect he had shown the Ancient and to his father. _'Peter Caine has stopped playing the fool as far as his father's concerned. Never again!'_

_'Yeah, right, you talk big, Peter, but when push comes to shove, you fold every time!'_

_'Pop's work is important,'_ Peter admonished his more belligerent side, but he failed to convince his more forgiving side to have stronger convictions regarding his father. Sighing deeply, he circled the phone booth one more time.

Peter was startled when an elderly barrel-chested man silently approached him as he had been consumed in his debating and pacing. He was the first living soul Peter had met during the past few hours, aside from the variety of voices on the telephone directing him to different locations.

The old man obviously had a good portion of Native American genes which was apparent through his high cheek bones and darker coloring. His mostly gray hair was pulled back into a long braid and he didn't look like he cared much for the detective as he held his cane in a poised attack position.

"You Caine?" the old man asked warily.

With the old man still looking like he was prepared to use his cane on Peter if given half a chance, Peter's sarcasm got the better of him. "No, that's my father."

Relenting at the last minute, he sighed and said, "Yeah, I'm Peter. Detective Peter Caine. You're with Celeste Crowfoot and Tommy Hills?"

"Do you see them here?" the old man snapped back, clearly able to respond with

greater sarcasm. There was a fire sparking from his dark expression.

Rolling his eyes, Peter suppressed his rising temper before he grabbed the old man's wavering cane and throttled him with it.

"Look, I'm just a simple cop who's freezing his ass off. I could really use a straight answer here," Peter said in a voice belying the end of his patience.

"Show me you're who you say you are," the old codger demanded. His eyes narrowed as he awaited Peter's response.

Shaking his head slightly, Peter pulled off one glove, then reached into an inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out his ID. Flipping it open, Peter gave the old man an icy stare which would normally freeze the souls of most men.

Apparently, the old man was immune to withering stares as he donned his reading glasses and held his flashlight close to the official documentation, looking back and forth between it and Peter, giving both closer scrutiny than Peter had tolerance for. Finally, the old coot handed the badge back to Peter.

He spat on the ground, apparently indicating that he'd made his decision and Peter had passed inspection.

"So, what's your name?" Peter asked as he put his ID away.

The wizened old fellow, whose eyes were enlarged by the thick lenses of his eyeglasses, reminding Peter of Mr. Magoo, said with disgust, "Mystery man."

Pursing his lips together, Peter muttered, "Cute."

"It's all the likes of you get right now."

Peter's temper flared by the man's insulting demeanor. He'd been made to suffer long enough and was preparing to shout when the old man spoke in a quiet tone, designed to diffuse Peter's anger before it had a chance to really get going.

"Well, I'm here to take you to Celeste and Tommy as long as you weren't followed."

He gestured to Peter's tan Crown Victoria. "Have you checked your car for tracking devices?"

Peter gaped at the man's comment. After a moment, he closed his mouth.

"Well, have you or not?" the mystery man demanded.

"No, but why-"

"Because these people are wily enough to try something like that."

"But I've been with my car the whole time...except when I had some lunch."

The Mr. Magoo lookalike grimaced. "Better get to it," he ordered as he gestured toward the vehicle with his cane.

Peter was about to argue with him when he remembered the two men from the diner. The impressions from that meeting tempered Peter's response. "Okay, it's worth a look."

They walked over to the car and the old man handed Peter his flashlight. Peter pulled off a glove and began to feel above the rear passenger wheel for planted tracking devices. He continued forward when he didn't find anything there. And the mystery man was right on his heels, making sure Peter did the job correctly.

It was clear until Peter got to the rear bumper and his fingers glided across a compact object that shouldn't have been there. Swallowing hard, he pulled the device away from the bumper, holding it up to examine it more closely with the flashlight.

"Damn," the old man said.

Peter was at a loss for words as he stood. The GPS tracker was pretty high-tech. Peter had never seen one that small before. He cursed under his breath as the old man took the tracking device and threw it into the brush and took back his flashlight.

Without waiting for a response from Peter, the old man turned, and was now using his cane for its intended purpose. He began a limping stride towards a stand of trees. Peter followed him until he saw a forty year-old Ford truck hidden behind the brush and trees

_'He must have been there the whole time I was standing around this phone booth,'_ Peter decided as he fumed.

"Hold up there, sonny," the old man snapped after realizing Peter was following him. "We've got to get moving before we have unwanted visitors. I'm going take you on a wild ride through the mountain roads in hope of losing these fellows."

"Look, I'm sorry I didn't think to check for tracking devices earlier," Peter said.

The old man stopped and stared at Peter for a moment, and it seemed his temper cooled a bit. "You've got to be wily when dealing with this bunch."

"You sound like you know a lot about them," Peter replied as he stepped closer.

The old man shook his head. "Never laid eyes on them, but I know their kind. They are trouble pure and simple," he said quietly.

He looked directly at Peter. "I've got a thermos of hot coffee and a sandwich for you in the truck that ought to help tide you over until we actually head to where Celeste and Tommy are hiding. There's a walkie-talkie in the basket I'm gonna give you. That way we can alert each other to possible trouble."

Peter nodded. "I think you are right about the kind of men we are dealing with."

The old man started to say something, but instead resumed his trek to his truck. Peter followed him. As he handed Peter the basket, he said, "We've already lost two good souls to that drugged out fool. I'm committed to seeing that we don't lose two more. They're special, you hear me? Special. That's why we are gonna be on the road for a while."

Still talking as he got into his truck, he continued, "I'm not letting them out of my sight until I see that you've got the same level of commitment to get them back to the city safe and sound."

He glanced back to Peter and the young detective nodded in agreement.

"Okay, Detective Caine, it's time to this show on the road."

Peter turned toward his car. Before he got to it, he heard the roar of a powerful engine apparently hidden under the shoddy exterior of 'mystery man's' truck. Peter didn't waste any time getting into his vehicle. He turned the key in the ignition and revved the engine.

The truck moved past him and then waited a moment as Peter pulled in behind him, thinking he was about to begin 'Mr. Toad's Wild Ride'. The truck took off and Peter followed closely while his mood shifted from sarcastic thoughts to chiding himself for not taking this case more seriously.

He'd have to call Paul once they were safely at their destination. The simple witness transport assignment had just moved up to being a more dangerous job than either Peter or Paul had imagined.

**oOoOoOoOo**


	7. Chapter 7

1

**Chapter Seven**

"Adversaries and Friends"

As a way of keeping herself busy, Celeste was doing her evening physical therapy exercises, and anxiously awaited Ansel's return. She heard the slamming of car doors out in the driveway, and froze, her heart seized with fear.

Christopher Zimmerman, a big, burly former football player went to the window directly facing the driveway. His wife, Tracy, brought the shotgun to him as a precaution. She caught Celeste's gaze.

Nodding to Celeste, Tracy encouraged her with a quick smile, but as she turned back to her husband, Celeste saw the smile turned into worry. Tense seconds passed until relief washed over both Chris and Tracy. "It's okay, Celly. It's Ansel and he's giving the all clear sign."

Christopher peered out the curtains as he said, "Must be the detective in that other car. He's following Ansel up the driveway. Man, he doesn't look too happy. Ansel must have really pissed him off."

Chris Zimmerman smiled broadly as he turned and pecked his wife on the forehead. She kissed him back and laughed herself, "Well, it's not all that hard to do with Ansel. Really, Celeste, I know he's family and all, but that man could drive a saint to drink!"

Celeste picked up her cane and stood gingerly. The day had been a long one for her, mostly spent waiting for Ansel and her police escort. Tomorrow was likely to be another long day with the return trip home, not to mention battling with the anxiety of being back in familiar territory again.

Celeste watched as she saw her friend's jovial mood vanish amid concern for her.

Tracy walked up Celeste and wrapped a protective arm around her good friend. "This will all be over soon enough, Little Raven. You'll see."

Celeste smiled despite her apprehension. Tracy was pulling out the big guns by calling her Little Raven, a nickname given to her by her father, a half-blooded Sioux Indian. Celeste nodded in agreement, but didn't look into her dear friend's eyes. She didn't want Tracy to see the fear and anger swirling inside her.

Though expected and prepared for, the appearance of the police detective was making the horrible incident of her sister's death real again...The killings, the blood, the pain, and poor Tommy. All of it undeniably real.

Somehow over the past few months that they had been sequestered away from the real

world with only the job of healing her body and Tommy's spirit, she had been lulled into a false sense of security. And the feeling of safety vanished as Celeste's court date was only a few weeks away. Soon, she would be face-to-face with the murderer of her sister and brother-in-law, stating for the public record that Delmar Clark had been the killer.

Over these months of convalescence, she had tried to tell herself Ansel's paranoia had contaminated her own sense of safety, and she'd imagined danger when there had been none present. Yet, for Tommy's sake, she had to be absolutely sure he was safe. He had already suffered enough.

So when the front door opened and Ansel walked in, his face a picture of distrust and disdain, Celeste braced herself for the worst. The police detective followed him into the living room. Without warning, Celeste suddenly viewed him as the source of all of her troubles and the cause for all of their pain. There was hatred flashing through her mind and body, more than she ever thought humanly possible.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Peter relaxed as a wave of warm air enveloped him after closing the front door. His nostrils were greeted by the rich scent of a freshly cut Christmas tree and saw it was already decorated. Even better, the aroma of home cooking was still strong, despite the fact that it was hours past any reasonable dinner hour, reminding him just how hungry he was.

Having come to a stop, he removed his gloves as he waited for someone to introduce themselves before Tracy jumped in with an outstretched hand.

"Hi, I'm Tracy Zimmerman and this is my husband, Chris," she began as she reached out with one hand. Peter responded by extending his hand, which Tracy grabbed with a powerful grip, and pumped his hand.

Peter grimaced and Tracy released her hold on his hand immediately. "I'm sorry...Did I–"

Tracy reacted to the deep bruising across the knuckles of Peter's hand and her hand flew to her mouth out of concern and chagrin, "Oh, my!"

Raising the bruised appendage, Peter gestured for her to stop, "No, really, Tracy, it's all my fault. I did this yesterday and keep forgetting about the blasted thing. Don't worry about it."

Reaching out for his hand again, but she held it much more gently this time. Tracy exclaimed, "Chris, the man's hands are like ice. Add another log to the fire."

"You don't have to do that on my account," Peter began, uncomfortable with her concern.

"Honestly, men! It's a cold night, no matter if you're used to it or not," Tracy admonished as she went to Celeste's side for a quick once-over, and then was waved away by a stoic Celeste Crowfoot.

Peter followed Chris over the fireplace and stayed by it as he massaged his hands in the seductive warmth of the flames. Glancing around, he saw the living room was nicely decorated with Christmas cheer, a pleasant blend of old and new. The richly decorated Christmas tree already laden with an assortment of wrapped gifts lying on the tree skirt below it. Again, he was reminded of the Blaisdell home, because there was such obvious love in this place, just like at home.

As Chris went to stand, Peter tossed aside his sudden attack of homesickness and reminded himself that he was still on the job. Rubbing his hands together in front of the fireplace, Peter added, "Thanks for the fire. It's nice to meet you both, Tracy and Chris. By the way, my name is Peter Caine."

"Nice to meet you," Chris said as he carefully shook Peter's hand. "Just wish it was under better circumstances."

Ansel, AKA, Mystery Man, had already poured himself a drink and downed it in one swallow, slamming the shot glass to the counter so hard, it might have shattered, but didn't. He turned to the others. "They had a GPS tracking device on the detective's car. We got rid of it and then drove around for a few hours to make sure no one was following us.

Tracy put a hand to her mouth. An expression of fear for her friends said everything she was feeling. Chris wrapped an arm around her.

Celeste stepped forward. "What do we do now?"

Ansel looked to Peter for answers. The detective took a deep breath. "I've got to call into my captain and alert him to what happened. I think he'll probably want us to sit tight for now."

Peter paused for a moment. "You better check all the windows and doors in this house, just to be on the safe side. Make sure they are locked and secure. While you do that, I'll be on the phone with my supervisor."

They all flew into action. Peter used the telephone in the kitchen and his conversation lasted several minutes. He finally emerged just as Tracy and Chris came down the stairs and Ansel appeared from the basement door.

"We are locked up tight upstairs," Chris said with assurance.

Ansel chimed in after him. "There's no way they could get in through the basement."

"I've checked the ground floor," Celeste said quietly.

The others turned to Peter for his report. Peter couldn't help but notice Celeste's seething glare. He ran a hand through his hair as he said, "I don't think we need to worry about trouble tonight. My captain agreed with me, but he wants us to leave early in the morning. We talked about extra protection here at the house, but then decided it was too dangerous to call in outside help at this point."

Chris spoke up, "You mean, you didn't want to reveal us as helping them, right?"

Peter chewed on the inside of his lip before nodding. "There's no use in bringing trouble here when we can protect ourselves. We will have an escort from the state troopers once we hit the Interstate. My captain has some connections, so these will handpicked people, trusted people to escort us."

"I understand you didn't want to put Chris and myself in danger, but what are we going to do for protection during the night," Tracy asked.

Peter smiled at her and said, "We're locked down for the night. I see you have weapons of your own. Keep them nearby, but try not to worry. We will be out of here in a few hours."

Tracy sighed and held tight to her husband. Peter looked to Ansel. "I'll take the first watch."

Ansel chimed in, "I take the second half."

There was a brief moment where the room went silent; each person consumed with their own thoughts until Chris began to move towards the wet bar. "Can I get you something to drink? Beer, whiskey, coffee?" Chris asked cordially.

Peter smiled. "Some coffee would be great. I can't believe how cold it is out there tonight."

"It's the mountain air. It makes the temperatures seem colder to you 'lowlanders' than it really is," Tracy said as she gestured to Chris that she would go retrieve the coffee, relieving him of that duty, so he joined Ansel at the wet bar.

"Do you take anything in your coffee?" she asked when she was almost to the kitchen.

"No, thank you, just black," Peter replied.

He turned to face the woman who had caught his eye the very moment he entered the residence, recognizing her from the file photos. Though her hair was longer now, she was readily identifiable.

For some strange reason, Celeste Crowfoot had grown more rigid and was still staring daggers aimed him. Peter had felt her anger the very moment he came through the front door. His eye caught her bitter glare again and he wondered what he had done to deserve such rage.

After all, he'd been the one to drive six hours, and then travel all over the countryside waiting for phone calls in the cold, only to arrive at the final meet in the dead of night and be scowled at.

Sighing deeply, he decided he would be the picture of politeness, even if it killed him. He straightened his shoulders and walked over to her, flashing his best smile and held out his hand in greeting.

"You must be Celeste Crowfoot. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Celeste only deepened her glare and didn't say a word.

Peter let his hand drop to his side after a long moment and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from saying something he'd regret later. He was chilled to the bone, dead on his feet, and starved. The sandwich Ansel had given to him felt more like an appetizer to a dinner he never had time for.

As if reading his mind, Tracy emerged from the kitchen with a tray filled with different edibles and his steaming coffee. Peter's face immediately broke into a wide smile as he saw everything she had brought for him.

Placing the tray on the coffee table before him, she said, "After your long trip, I thought you might be hungry, too. Here, sit in this chair closest to the fireplace. We'll get you warmed up in no time at all."

"Tracy, if you weren't a married woman, I'd kiss you," Peter said appreciatively as he sat down and started transferring a variety of items onto his plate, then paused for a swig of hot coffee.

Tracy chuckled at his enthusiastic response, only to have it stifle in her throat when she glanced over at Celeste who was strangely silent. Going to her friend's side, she said, "What's the matter?"

Celeste didn't answer her, only continued to glare at him, so Tracy tried again. "Did something happen while I was in the kitchen?"

Celeste stepped away from her, leaning heavily on her cane.

"You aren't required to feed him, Tracy," Celeste said in a cold voice.

In fact, it must have been so uncharacteristic for Celeste to behave like that, both Ansel and Chris turned their heads in her direction, but it didn't stop her from continuing. "He gets paid to do this sort of thing. It's his job. You don't have to do anything extra for him."

Tracy did a double take at her friend's caustic tone. "Come on, Celly, you're joking, right?"

Tracy tried to ease the tension in the room. "It's nothing, Celeste, really. Just some leftovers. He's cold and hungry. Come on, girl, this isn't like you..."

Celeste refused to back down, keeping a wary eye on Peter. The young detective knew trouble was brewing just by looking at his witness's tight expression. He sat his plate down on the coffee table and stood with his napkin now crumbled tightly in his fist.

"Have I offended you in some way?" Peter asked with his other hand out before him, bewildered by Celeste's unexplained behavior.

"You're damned right you offend me!"

Celeste's face flushed red as she began yelling at Peter, "Everything about you offends me! What you stand for! Why you're here now when you should have been out on the streets stopping that maniac long before he ever killed Connie...and..."

Celeste's ranting came to an abrupt halt when she caught a small movement out of the corner of one eye. To her horror, she turned to see young Tommy standing at the end of the hallway, rubbing his eyes, and trying to wake up.

Celeste went quiet as Tommy came to her and wrapped his arms around her. He'd probably heard all the noise they'd been making, Peter thought. The fight vanished from Celeste as she reached down and picked Tommy up.

While Celeste hugged him close, Tommy's silvery eyes latched onto the presence of a stranger in the house. Peter was nearly unnerved by the intensity of those whispery eyes which held him as transfixed as if Dracula himself had hypnotized him.

After a moment, Peter smiled and wiggled his fingers at Tommy in an abbreviated wave. To his surprise, Tommy repeated his wave with his own fingers as he smiled broadly, exposing his missing front two teeth.

Peter noticed that Tracy's breath seemed to catch in her chest with Tommy's reaction to him. Turning towards Tracy, he raised an eyebrow in an unspoken question. Before she could answer him, Celeste was speaking.

"Chris, could you help me get him back into bed? Tomorrow's going to be a long and busy one."

"Sure, Celly, let me carry him for you."

He started to reach forward to take Tommy, only to have the boy shrink back in apprehension. Patting Tommy on the back, Celeste whispered into his ear, "It's okay, honey, I've got you, but you'll have to walk up the stairs by yourself. I'll be with you all the way, so you won't be alone. Will that be alright?"

Chewing on a lower lip, Tommy hesitated before nodding his approval. Strangely, his eyes never left Peter's. The boy walked over to Peter and reached out one hand in a very grown-up gesture before leaving.

Glancing at the shocked faces in the living room, Peter gathered that Tommy's actions were not the norm, but it didn't stop him from kneeling down to the boy's eye level to take his hand in a formal handshake.

Not waiting for an introduction this time, Peter said, "Hi, Tommy. My name is Peter and we get to go on a long drive tomorrow."

Without warning, Tommy's other hand reached up and brought it to rest on Peter's stubbled cheek. Sensing that Tommy was searching for something deep within him, Peter didn't pull back, only smiled sincerely as he continued to meet Tommy's gaze.

Tommy finally broke away when Celeste appeared at his side and asked, "Tommy, honey, is everything okay?"

Nodding, Tommy buried his face into her clothes, and then took her hand, waving goodnight to Peter with the other.

**oOoOoOoOo**

After Tommy and Celeste were gone from the room, Peter stood. He glanced down at the crumpled napkin still in his hand. The reason for his own anger now seemed long forgotten. Tracy went to his side and said, "I've been praying for Tommy to reach outside of himself, beyond Celeste. And here he did it, just like that.

"That boy has been through so much...but somehow, he trusts you with your first meeting. That's a very rare thing for him. He's known us since he was a baby and he still hesitates coming close at times. I don't know why, but I feel like I should be thanking you," she said as she touched his arm, then left for the kitchen with tear-filled eyes.

Peter looked over at Ansel and Chris by the wet bar, and saw the presence of emotion in their eyes, too. When no one said anything, Peter went back to his chair by the fire and finished filling his plate. As he ate in silence, his eyes kept wandering back to the hallway passage where Celeste and Tommy had disappeared.

Remembering the haunted look in Tommy's eyes, Peter cringed, recognizing the pained expression that reflected back at him. No longer did those eyes know innocence, but only great loss and deep melancholy. Similar emotions now descended upon Peter's spirit and he pushed away from the table, his appetite dampened by distant memories.

Peter thought he'd put to rest most of his demons from the trauma of his father's supposed death. Staring at the empty hallway, Peter wondered if his demons had ever really been put to rest...or if they'd just only been hiding for a very long while instead.

**oOoOoOoOo**

After tucking Tommy into bed, Celeste came back and managed a semi-civil tone with Peter. "I've never been very good at apologizing and I don't imagine it will be any easier this time, but I am sorry for my behavior. I wanted to say that to you privately and explain you why I reacted like I did."

Peter waved a hand in front of him. "No need to do that. I understand completely. Hell, I might have reacted exactly like you if our roles were reversed."

Celeste took a deep breath and nodded. "Just so we understand each other. And I don't want Tommy to know that we are in danger. I don't think he could handle that right now."

Peter looked at her closely. "All things considered, I think he's doing a great job. And so are you. Try not to worry about tomorrow. We'll hit the road at first light and be back in the city before you know it."

"I hope so, for Tommy's sake," she said, disbelief echoing in her words.

"It's late. You better get some sleep. Don't worry, I'll be watching over the household for the first shift. And Ansel will take over for me for the second shift."

Celeste nodded and headed toward her bedroom. She was the last one to turn in for the night. After checking all the locks and windows in the house for a second time, Peter poured himself a glass of milk,and devoured some freshly baked cookies that Tracy had left out for him.

Peter finally sat in a recliner by the fire. Ansel came through a few hours later and said he'd take over the watch. "Why don't you use my bed to catch some shut eye?"

Peter shook his head. "No, this recliner is pretty comfortable, I'll be able to nap here. I'm a light sleeper."

Ansel shrugged his shoulders and went for another shot of whiskey. Peter closed his eyes and fell into a light sleep. With the sleep came the inevitable dreams and nightmares.

He was back at the temple's destruction. Smoke and fire was practically all he could see as he lay trapped under a fallen beam. Coughing, he tried to move the beam on his own, but it was much too heavy for him. Then, through a break in a fallen wall, he could make out his father, searching...probably for him.

"Father!" he called. "Help me!"

It seemed like his father had seen him, but then the older man turned away from him. Peter was horrified that his father could just leave him like that. He called again, "Father!"

But his father never returned. The fire was building around him and he feared he would die in that blazing inferno. There was more debris falling towards him, frightening him.

Peter bolted upright with a hand reaching forward and shouted, "Father!"

He jerked awake suddenly, his breath and heart rate racing. He gasped for air, and wiped a shaky hand across his forehead. After another moment, he sensed the nearby presence of another.

Peter's hand automatically went to his holster, but he relaxed when he realized it was only young Tommy Hills standing beside his chair. He was relieved that he hadn't had time to draw his gun. The sight of a drawn weapon might have erased all of the good Celeste had done with him while up at Ansel's cabin.

He thought back to the long talk with Tracy in the kitchen when he went to return his empty dishes. She told him another side of the story that wasn't included in the police reports while she baked her cookies. How over the long months, Tommy had finally started to emerge from his isolated shell.

A hand on his shoulder brought Peter back from his encounter with Tracy. Smiling, Peter reached forward and patted Tommy's shoulder as he said, "Sorry, sport, it was just a bad dream. You startled me. What are you doing up so late?"

He corrected himself after squinting at his watch, "Or maybe I should ask what are you doing up so early?"

Tommy blinked his eyes of silver gray and only stood there, as if in deep thought, and then paused as a pang of obvious sadness crossed his expression. Reaching under the neck of his pajamas, the boy withdrew a small woman's gold locket on a long chain and opened it to show the half-awake detective.

_'Must have belonged to his mother,'_Peter thought. One side of the locket held a picture of Tommy's mother while the other side his father.

Peter never flinched with Tommy's sharing, because he knew the need for such sharing all too well, though his heart did cringe as long-buried memories began to resurface, but he maintained steady eye contact with the boy. Their eyes had become a living conduit, linking one soul to another for that brief moment of time, and Peter refused to break the connection, no matter what else happened in the next few moments. Peter allowed his own expression to convey the grief he knew had to be overflowing in Tommy's heart.

"Those were your parents, Tommy?" he asked gently.

Tommy nodded in his bravest, grown-up way.

Licking his lips, Peter leaned forward a bit and said, "My mom died when I was very young. Then, we thought my dad died when I was only a few years older than you are right now. I know it's hard, but you're lucky to have so many people who love and care about you."

At first, Peter thought Tommy hadn't heard or understood him, but then the boy reached forward and pressed an open palm against Peter's mid-chest. Glancing downward, Peter looked at the small hand against his heart and back up into the huge pools of gray staring at him in a wide-eyed plea for understanding.

Peter brought his own hand to rest against Tommy's chest and said in a voice so quiet only the two of them could have heard him, "It hurts there all the time, doesn't it?"

Tommy's chin quivered a bit before he nodded again. Peter brought his mouth closer to Tommy's ear and whispered, "It gets better."

Suddenly, Peter was thrown back in the recliner as the boy leapt up into his lap and wrapped his arms around his chest in a frantic clutch of sympathetic need. Peter rocked him as they each shed silent tears. Without meaning to, both fell asleep in front of the crackling fireplace until Peter was nudged awake by Ansel. It seemed like he'd just closed his eyes but he knew dawn was approaching.

He paused another moment to look down at Tommy and then back to Ansel. The old man looked puzzled, but there was something else in his expression that Peter searched out. It seemed to be relief, maybe about Tommy feeling safe enough to fall asleep in a stranger's arms.

Ansel stared at the boy for a span of seconds before he said, "I'll put him back in bed."

The old man's voice wavered a bit and Peter thought he saw the old man's eyes tear up behind his thick glasses. Peter found himself not wanting to let go of the boy. "I can take him. Where is his room?"

Ansel told him and Peter went to put Tommy back in his bed, finding himself awash in a feeling of fierce protectiveness. "Nobody's gonna hurt you, Tommy, not while I'm around."

**oOoOoOoOo**


	8. Chapter 8

1

**Chapter Eight**

"Road Trip"

It was before sunrise and Peter was already gritting his teeth. They had hit the road early as Celeste requested, but it wasn't long before Peter realized it was going to be a very long trip home. Even with an empty highway that would allow him to make good time, the minutes crawled by with Celeste's dark mood.

Celeste had proven to be one of the most argumentative women Peter had ever met. To say that she had a chip on her shoulder the size of Cleveland would be an understatement. Detective Caine did his professional best to put up with her steady stream of complaints. It just went on and on.

_'Turning in late probably didn't help her mood any,'_ Peter thought, _'but then again I didn't get much sleep myself and I'm not harping on her every move.'_

Finally, Peter pulled the car over to the side of the road. He asked her to step outside and join him for a moment of private conversation, knowing Tommy didn't need to hear the discussion he had planned for Celeste.

She joined him after glaring at him for several moments. She climbed out of the car under an air of protest. She refused his hand of assistance, and then slammed the door shut in irritation.

_'Don't push me too hard, lady. My manners only go so far,'_ Peter thought grimly as he stood before the petite woman who had only one way of viewing life. Basically, her way.

He took a brief moment to compose himself as best he could, and then he launched into his speech. He spoke with a tightly controlled voice and more than a little annoyance shone through. "Look, Celeste, we don't have to like each other. I'm only here to get you back to testify safely. That's it! That's all! Nothing more! You don't have to like the car. You don't have to like the road, my driving, or the frigging weather! So, just button it until we get home!"

When Celeste opened her mouth to respond, Peter raised a hand with one finger pointed upward so rapidly, it silenced any words she was about to say.

"No, I said that's it and I meant it. No debate, no commandments, no nothing. In six hours, we'll be back in town. You'll be handed over to a protection detail and out of my hair! We won't have to lay eyes on one another ever again. Hallelujah for that! But until then, I don't to want hear a single word out of your mouth unless it's something regarding Tommy or an emergency."

He slapped his hands together for emphasis. "Get it? Got it? Good. Now, get back in the damned car and let's get out of here."

Peter opened her door, and then rounded the car to get into the driver's seat. He knew full well that if he had waited for her to get in to close the door behind her, she would have lambasted him for something.

Without little other recourse, Celeste got into the car as ordered, pulling on Tommy's baseball cap after she sat down, and then glared into the rearview mirror. Peter could feel her eyes on him, but the streetwise detective was smart enough not to glance up at her reflection.

He used his side mirror to check for check for traffic before pulling out onto the empty highway. Right then, Peter would have paid any sum of money for some music, talk radio...anything to break than the heavy silence in the car. Of course, the silence was infinitely better than Celeste's constant ranting, so it was the lesser of two evils.

The only redeeming soul in the car was poor little Tommy Hills. It was because of him that both adults there were forced to restrain themselves from a very ugly trip home. The young boy just broke Peter's heart whenever he spied him in the rearview mirror. So withdrawn, so alone, so...much like himself after his father's death.

The fact that Peter had been a few years older than Tommy when he was told Kwai Chang Caine was dead might have helped him be a little better equipped to deal with his grief. A little better equipped, but not by much. Peter focused on the road as he swallowed back unwanted feelings coming to life, reawakened by Tommy's inner pain.

He glanced up at the storm clouds looking angrier than they had the day before. The snow predicted for the previous night never came, probably because it was too damned cold to snow.

He glanced back at the road and his mirrors. That was when he took note of a black Explorer following them in the distance. Its detail had become more pronounced with the increasing morning light. It seemed the trailing vehicle always managed to stay several lengths behind them as Peter carefully observed the driver's actions. It didn't matter if he sped up or slowed down, the Explorer never went slower or faster than they were going.

The haunting image of a black Ford Explorer barreling out of the roadside diner's parking lot the day before loomed in his thoughts._ 'Dammit! We still have another thirty miles before we meet up with the state troopers,'_ Peter reminded himself grimly. _"Without the GPS tracker, how did they find us, find this car again?"_

Peter was worried and it only multiplied as he realized only Paul knew where they'd been. He might have shared the news with the DA, to let him know that there had been trouble, and that Det. Caine was bringing the witness from Rural Route 33 and would meet up with the state troopers at the Interstate interchange.

He bit his lip as he realized there had to be a mole somewhere, leaking information to Wilson Cooper Clark and his high paid assassins. But he didn't have time for possible leaks, he had to notify Paul of their situation.

He reached for the car phone and punched in the precinct's telephone number. Celeste had been watching him like a hawk from the moment she saw him stiffen and begin to check his mirrors repeatedly. Her expression reflected the sudden apprehension in Peter's actions.

"What is it?" she whispered, not wanting to awaken Tommy.

"It's nothing. I'm just checking in," Peter lied brusquely as he brought the phone to his ear.

"But you just called them from the house before we left," Celeste began, but stopped when Peter's eyes widened with alarm.

He quickly pressed the reset button on the phone and brought it to his ear before angrily tossing the handset into the empty front passenger seat, cursing under his breath. He pulled out his cell phone and got the same results.

"Detective, please tell me. What's the matter?" she asked in a tone that would not be denied.

Peter noted her escalating apprehension as his eyes darted over the landscape and rearview mirrors. "The car phone's dead. My cell phone can't get a signal to dial out. And I think we're being tailed," Peter stated with a tight-lipped expression.

Celeste's hand flew to her mouth as her head swung around to look behind them. "It might be the mountains. Sometimes, they can make cell phones or radio calls impossible."

Peter nodded in acknowledgment, but he was busy examining their options as they sailed down the highway. He couldn't see any other hostiles in the area preparing to attack, but that didn't mean they weren't out there.

As he drove, he also scanned the area and his memories from his recent road trip to the Zimmerman's home the night before. He looked for possible avenues of escape, but being led all over the countryside in the dark left Peter completely turned around. He knew the direct route from the Zimmerman home to the city, but that was about it.

Peter frowned as he realized he was going to have to rely on Celeste to guide them to safety. "Celeste, how well do you know the area?"

"I spent my summers here when we were growing up," she said in a barely contained voice.

"Great, we're gonna use that to our advantage. First, check your seatbelt and Tommy's. Tighten them up as much as possible. When I ask for a choice of roads, say it fast and sure. When you chose, keep in mind we need the most direct route to get us back to the Interstate or to a town. Preferably, a town with a police department or a sheriff's substation, that kind of thing. Remember, our lives may depend on the choices you make."

"Oh, God," Celeste murmured as she did as Peter requested, cinching Tommy's safety belt before moving to her own. All done without complaint or a deadly glare for the first time since he had met her.

Peter handed her a map of the area without a word. He was busy watching for any sign of danger. Celeste tucked the now slumbering boy protectively under one arm, and unfolded the map. She studied it, her head popping up to get her bearings and then back to the map. Peter caught a glimpse of Celeste's pale, panicked face scrunched up in forced concentration as she brought the map closer to read the finely detailed diagrams.

He found himself wishing for backup of any sort. Now, all he had for comfort was a mute child, a petrified road guide, his nine-millimeter Beretta in its holster, along with a backup .32 strapped to his ankle. He had a couple extra clips for the Beretta, but that was it, except for gut-full of regrets and fears. He had a feeling that what he had in the way of weapons wasn't going to be nearly enough as he glanced into the rearview mirror one more time.

**oOoOoOoOo**


	9. Chapter 9

1

**Chapter Nine**

"First Blood"

While Peter focused on the Explorer following them, a second black Ford Explorer came barreling towards them from behind a tree-lined clearing. Positioned for maximum shock and surprise, they raced toward Peter's car at top speed with dirt flying in a furious cloud behind them.

Only Peter's quick reactions helped him to swerve at the last minute. The unavoidable collision was reduced to merely a blow off the back bumper, rather than the disabling impact their assailants had hoped for. Still, it was bad enough to throw their car into a wild spin on the icy road like some crazed carnival ride.

Peter did an admirable job of keeping their car from rolling over. At the speed they'd been traveling, the sudden spinning could have easily transformed into a rollover as centrifugal forces vied against the laws of gravity and velocity on the thin veneer of ice over asphalt.

Madly manipulating the steering wheel, Peter alternated with tapping on the brake and gunning gas pedal in a way that surprised even himself. Inside the vehicle, there were terrifying sounds as the car was made to do things the manufacturer never considered.

"Celeste, get down! They are firing at us!" Peter shouted over the maddening din.

He had not only heard but felt the impact of automatic weapons being fired at them as bullets slammed into their car while they spun around helplessly. Their revolving motion gave countless opportunities for their assassins to hit their intended target, but since their Explorer was also caught in the same road conditions as was the spinning car, it was impossible to adequately track their mark.

Peter was vaguely aware of windows shattering around him amidst the horrendous racket. There was no time to be bothered with shattered windows or even bullets in general.

First things first. He had to get their car out of its frantic death spin before it rolled over, and then he could deal with being outmatched by at least four-to-one in manpower. He didn't even want to think about the potential weapons cache in the other vehicles.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was really only a few long seconds, he straightened out the car's path, still feeding on its momentum,hoping to use their high velocity as an aid in their escape.

He glanced ahead, and his blood froze in his veins as he recognized the gold trimmed Explorer from the diner's parking lot,heading straight for them. It was attempting to repeat the efforts of the second black Explorer. Peter prepared himself as another imminent collision seemed inevitable.

"Brace yourself! This one's gonna hurt!" Peter warned as his mind desperately searched for options.

A glimpse in his rearview mirror revealed the rapid approach of the second Explorer behind them. _'What would Pop do here?'_

As the panicked question crossed his mind, he was filled with a tremendous sense of calming serenity. His breathing steadied as his physical strength increased. Automatically, he knew the answer with every fiber of his being. An ancient teaching resurfaced in his peacefulness and the focus of his inner eye grew.

_'He would center his thoughts. Move through the course of obstacles before him and find the best path. Our paths are always present, but they can only be discerned with eyes of clarity. Therefore, our path of escape is there, if only I can see it.'_

Gleaning sudden inspiration from that long ago knowledge, Peter grasped the wheel firmly and jerked the steering wheel viciously to one side. Abruptly, the car became airborne, flying off the road, as if in a choreographed route of escape.

He acted just in time to avoid both Explorers as they advanced on his previous position from opposite directions, knowing they meant to catch him in some type of macabre squeeze play. He could only pray their plan would backfire on them badly.

His Crown Victoria impacted with the hard, unpaved ground of the countryside below, giving all of the occupants in the car a bone-jarring ride, landing about ten feet lower than the highway itself.

The car literally bounced along its way two or three times. Then the wheels' spun hard, digging deep into the frozen ground for traction while Peter battled to keep the forward motion of the vehicle within his control. The car fish-tailed in the uncooperative soil before speeding ahead in its frantic pace.

Still eerily calm, Peter navigated his way through countless obstacles, employing a type of driving which was never meant to be used for high speed chases and especially without four wheel drives engaged.

Peter's attention was diverted to his mirrors after hearing the satisfying screeching of tires and the inevitable sound of glass and metal colliding at high speed back on the highway behind him. He allowed himself a brief, but gratifying smile. Both vehicles

were inextricably intermeshed with one another as steam rose from the abused engines

"Yes!" the detective exclaimed.

Dazed bodies stumbled out of the two SUV's. Nearly all of the men were holding injured areas of their bodies. One or two of them were aware enough to fire a weapon in their direction, but Peter knew they had little chance of harming his passengers.

"Did you see that?" Peter called out to the others in the vehicle, still watching the aftermath unfolding in the wreckage behind them. "The idiots did themselves in! Ha! That was priceless!"

Peter was still chuckling to himself as he struggled with a sluggish steering wheel on the rugged course.

"Celeste, I'm gonna need those directions soon," Peter requested as he started to settle down a bit and studied the area ahead of them, concentrating on a spot for them to rejoin the highway.

When he didn't get an answer, he glanced back via his mirror and saw Celeste crumpled over Tommy's body. More disturbing was the fact that neither of them were moving. Peter's mind was flooded with memories of the sounds of semi-automatic weapons fire hitting their car only moments beforehand.

With his attention divided between his path and his rearview mirror, Peter anxiously watched for any signs of life. A flare of panic rose and he tried to dissuade it with sarcasm. _'Uh, Paul, it went something like this. We won the battle, but lost the war.'_

Peter went to call out again, but this time his voice cracked with fear, the fear he didn't have time to acknowledge earlier. Now, he could no longer ignore it. He was facing the possibility of death in the seat behind him. Swallowing hard, he tried again and managed to sound a little stronger, "Celeste? Tommy? You two okay back there?"

The longer he went without a response from them or even the slightest movement, the more his fears multiplied. Peter's previous exuberance at evading the bad guys vanished. Slamming a fist against the steering wheel, he shouted their names again, only much louder this time, "Answer me! Dammit, Celeste Crowfoot! Scream at me and tell me every blasted thing I did wrong. Do it! Dammit to hell, just do it!"

Peter's dark eyes were riveted on the images in his mirror as he somehow kept the car moving forward without hitting anything. There was still no reply from the back of the car and no movement that he could see. It was a bumpy ride, but painfully quiet and uneventful.

There hadn't been any sign of pursuit from their attackers thus far and no way for them to do so unless there was another vehicle lying in wait somewhere else, but that thought brought him little comfort.

Scanning ahead, Peter finally spotted a place where he could move back onto the highway without too much trouble. He prayed that the two in the back seat were still alive and well. Once he was back on the road, he could pull over and check on them. Until then, he ran a high risk of getting stuck if he stopped.

Blinking rapidly, Peter felt moisture obscuring his vision on the left side of his face. Thinking it was sweat, he brushed at the dampness with the back of his right hand, only to find a wet smear of red blood across the back of his knuckles, which proceeded to run in tiny rivulets down to his wrist.

"What the hell?" he muttered.

Using the rearview mirror for his own purposes this time, he craned his head for a better view and saw a large gaping cut across the upper left portion of his temple. It was spilling blood like water through a sieve.

When did that happen? And how could he not have noticed it when it did, he wondered. There was blood all down the side of his face and already soaking into the collar and front of his shirt.

As Peter drove, he was frustrated by the fact that he had nothing within his reach to stem the flow of blood or to even clean himself up a bit. That messy job would have to wait until after he checked on the others.

Feeling the day's bitter cold for the first time since he had pulled the car over to have his 'discussion' with Celeste earlier, Peter worried over his passengers. He remembered trying to control the motion of the car, and the sound of exploding glass and decided he got his gash in those adrenaline-packed moments, never feeling the pain when it had happened.

Peter applied pressure on the injured area with his left hand. With the briefest contact, the injured area felt like it was exploding with the force of high-powered jack hammers. The edges of his vision darkened and he felt the warning signs of nausea ready to blossom into something more.

He opted to forego any further first aid while driving, noting the shattered glass of the driver's window was hanging loosely from the door's inner supports. Now, it looked like a heavily overburdened spider's web, swaying with the motion of the car as it bounced along the irregularities of the highways' asphalt.

Peter Caine was suddenly shaken by the reality of how close he had come to dying in that exchange as he stared at the shattered window and into the mirror again to view the still weeping gash. _'Was it the shattered window or a bullet that had creased my forehead?_

_'Get a grip, Caine! You may have dead witnesses in the back of your car and you're worrying over a little cut!'_

Peter jumped violently as he felt a hand on his shoulder, almost losing control of the car. Before he had a chance to turn around, he heard Celeste's weak voice spoken with controlled fear, but there was also with a ring of compassion to it.

"Here, Detective, use this on your forehead before you bleed to death."

Reaching behind him to take the offered handkerchief, he applied it to the wound as previously numbed nerve endings continued to return to life with a vengeance. His temple was throbbing and his nausea refused to abate, but his sole focus was on his responsibilities currently residing in the back seat.

"How are you two?" Peter asked in a hurried rush as he pressed the now stained handkerchief tightly against his temple and drove one-handed. His eyes kept darting back and forth across the mirror's line of vision. He was relieved by the apparent lack of blood in the back seat, but couldn't see their entire bodies.

Celeste was rocking Tommy in her arms and only shook her head in a tightlipped reply as she hummed one of Tommy's favorite lullabies to soothe the terrified child. It was her way of saying to Peter she had no idea how bad the damage done to her nephew was.

"Was anyone shot or hurt?" Peter asked anxiously, keeping his voice down after he caught a glimpse of Tommy's near catatonic expression. Wide, unresponsive gray eyes stared off into nothing, almost without blinking. If Peter didn't know better, he would have sworn the boy was already dead.

"Only you," Celeste said, taking a brief break to reply to Peter's question before launching back into song as she brushed the fingers of one hand across the boy's eyebrow and held his head close to her lips.

Peter glanced back at her, his hazel eyes dark with guilt, "Celeste, I'm so sorry about this. If I'd been more on the ball back there-"

Celeste cut him off by saying, "This is just what Ansel warned me about before I snuck out of the hospital. They don't want me to testify and are willing to go to any lengths to keep me from doing so. This wasn't your fault. It's that little weasel's fault and I'm going to live long enough to testify against him and see him face justice out of pure spite!"

For a moment, Peter chuckled at her grit. He truly believed Celeste would just as she said. He paused for a moment. "We have two choices. One, to make for the Interstate and the state troopers in hopes they don't have another team lying in wait for us. Or two, to get off this road as soon as possible and find a phone so that the troopers can come to us. What we just encountered was a very professional job. We need to do the unexpected and do it fast."

Celeste's expression tightened even more. "What do you think is the best thing to do?"

Peter sighed and closed his eyes again, reaching deep inside for answers and direction. When he opened them again, he said, "We need to get off this road."

Celeste nodded as she continued to rock Tommy and hum into his nearby ear while she reviewed the map again. Raising her head, she said, "Another mile or two ahead, and there'll be a set of rocks stacked on top of each other. It will be on the left, marking a turnoff that lies just beyond it...You probably want to start slowing down about now. The turn you'll be making won't even look like a road. It's more of a short cut really, not on any map. It will be bumpy, but it will take us off the road and into the town of Clarion.

"There's nothing there in the way of law enforcement, but there's a general store and a telephone, so you'll can contact the state troopers. Besides, you really need to let me look at that head wound."

Peter didn't know how to take this version of Celeste Crowfoot; controlled, caring, logical...and very disconcerting. It was such an abrupt departure from the contentious woman he'd been lecturing outside the car only an hour earlier.

He caught her eye in the mirror's reflection and flashed her a small smile, but this one was from the heart as he said, "You just take care of Tommy. I'm okay."

He saw the pile of rocks sitting alongside the road ahead just as Celeste described, but he still looked in her direction for confirmation. Celeste nodded firmly as she continued to comfort the nearly comatose boy.

"And I just stay on this...path?" Peter asked, unsure of his direction.

"Yes, it will become clearer after we pass the crest of this hill. Just be glad it didn't snow last night as predicted or else, there'd be no way for us to follow it."

Peter was the one to nod appreciatively this time and no one said another word until Celeste informed him the few buildings in the distance was the 'town' of Clarion. A place not even large enough to be called a wide spot in the road, but it was now their sanctuary and possibly their only hope for survival.

**oOoOoOoOo**


	10. Chapter 10

1

**Chapter Ten**

"Clarion"

Peter was trying his cell phone again when Celeste pointed out the 'town' of Clarion.

"I know your cell phone won't work here, Detective," she said quietly. "They never do, but my friends have a phone we can use."

Peter slipped his phone back into his pocket and asked the question that had been whispering to him from the back of his mind, "Is there a safe place where we could hide out until help arrives, if that's what my captain wants us to do?"

Celeste hesitated. "The-the only safe place I can think of would be my uncle's cabin."

"Is it close?"

"No, but it's the only fortified location I know of. We were safe there for months. Besides, you've already met my Uncle Ansel. It helps a great deal when he trusts the people coming into his house."

Peter felt his expression cloud as he tried to recall the few people he had met since arriving in this part of the country, and then scrunched up his face in sudden recognition, "Oh, you don't mean that old..."

Celeste smiled the first genuine smile he had seen on her face. "Yes, that was him. Ansel grows on you. Really, he does."

"You say he trusts me?"

Peter's incredulous tone turned the corners of her mouth upward to a greater degree. "Sure, he does. Well, as much as he trusts any outsider...About as far as he can throw you."

"Oh, this is gonna be fun." Peter's temple suddenly began to ache with the pain of things to come...and it didn't necessarily involve physical pain.

He reached backward with his notepad and pen, passing them to her as he asked, "Well, write down the directions on how to get there just in case. My captain may want a backup plan like that in place. I'll know more after I talk to him."

A look of worried concern sprang across Celeste's expression, making Peter think he'd missed something major happening around them.

"What? What is it?"

His eyes darted all around him, looking for the source of Celeste's worry.

"Do you think that's wise? To tell them about Ansel's place after everything that's just happened?" Celeste's voice took on the more familiar tones of confrontation.

As soon as she questioned his judgment, Peter relaxed immediately. There was no outside danger to contend with, only Celeste's fears and he felt he had could quiet them without too much trouble.

With a smirk, he caught her gaze in the mirror and said, "My captain also helped raise me. He was my father for a lot of important years in my life. And he knows how to take care of his family. We'll be safe. Trust me. Once he hears about what's happened, the President of the United States couldn't be safer than we will be."

"But...what about what just happened? How did they find us again?"

Peter swallowed and thought about her question for a minute. "The best thing I can come up with is that there is someone in the legal system leaking information to Wilson's assassins. And that's what I'll tell Paul when I speak with him. He'll handle the matter himself without alerting anyone else this time. Believe me, he will be pissed off when he hears about what just happened."

It took several moments for Peter's statement to sink in before Celeste's tense body language relaxed a bit. He understood why. It was almost impossible for her to trust him when her only concern in the world refused to acknowledge outside stimuli.

"Should we call Ansel and alert him that we might be coming?" Peter asked.

For a moment, he worried she was going to pass out on him again because she had become so pale and withdrawn while looking at Tommy.

"I would if I could, but he doesn't have a phone," she said softly, "Besides, I doubt he's home yet. He lives in a pretty remote area off in heart of the Misty Mountains."

Peter's eyes squeezed closed briefly as she began to write directions to Ansel's place.

"You're telling me we might be going to a safe house without a telephone. Oh, this just keeps getting better and better," he grumbled as his stomach threatened to rebel again.

An ache in his side began to burn as he vaguely recalled hitting his ribs against the car's interior door handle. Or maybe it was being jerked against the safety belt. Anyway, it was starting to hurt and he didn't have the time or inclination for pain.

"Oh, Detective, if we do go to Ansel's, you better warn your people about coming up to the cabin without a guide. Ansel has that place rigged six ways from Sunday with booby traps. I would recommend setting up a time and a place to meet off his property rather than bringing in an uninformed person."

"Ah, shit!" Peter exclaimed as he thumped the already abused steering wheel with his right hand so hard that Celeste jumped, making him temper his frustration with a slow, deep breath.

They coasted silently through the main street of Clarion. Actually, it was the only street in Clarion. For the first time that day, he was relieved they were traveling so early in the morning. They hadn't passed a single car on along the way since leaving the highway.

The detective was worried about the heavily damaged appearance of their vehicle. It might do more than alarm the locals, especially with a stranger driving it. People might start making phone calls or talk to strangers. Before he knew it, the word would be out, essentially leaving a trail for the assassins to follow.

Peter parked the car behind a grove of trees at the rear of the store as directed by Celeste. It was an old-time general store and the area's only source of shopping without traveling a considerable distance.

Joey and Judy Whitehorse had inherited the store from Joey's parents and lived in an apartment above the store. Despite the early hour, Celeste assured Peter that Joey would open up for her. She had known the couple since their teens and had a role in getting them together, so she figured they'd be willing to allow her to impose upon them.

As Peter went to stand after opening the car door, he was struck by a sudden wave of vertigo and weakness as his side burned like a raging forest fire. Reaching out to the door for support, his hand grazed the dangling glass of the shattered window and that was all it took for the glass web to collapse. The fragments dropped to the dark soil in a rain of sparkles. The early morning light caught the glittering prisms when they fell, which seemed to disorient Peter even more.

He managed to slide back down into his seat, breathing heavily as he struggled not to pass out while pressing a fist against his side. Vaguely, he was aware of Celeste calling his name as he slumped back against the headrest, still fighting against unconsciousness, but it was a pointless battle which he soon lost.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but there were hands gently slapping at his face and an unknown voice calling his name. Blinking furiously, he tried to get his eyes to focus. After another long moment, he could almost make out the face of a stranger talking to him.

The stranger backed away and Celeste's concerned face took his place. She had a wet washcloth in her hand and she dabbed at his forehead as she spoke to him, "Peter, you scared me half to death! How are you feeling?"

She paused in her activities to look closely at his pupils.

"Wha-what happened?" Peter asked sluggishly, his words slightly slurred like he'd been on an all-night drinking binge.

"You passed out. That's what happened. Why didn't you tell me you were hurt so badly?" Celeste scolded him as she continued to dab at the blood covering most of the left side of his head and upper torso.

"I'm fi--fine. Just got dizzy, I guess."

"Well, Joey's a big strong guy and he's going to help you into the store if you think you can manage that."

Peter swallowed, trying to assess his condition. His brain felt like it had turned to mush while he was out. His side and his forehead was killing him, but he knew they needed to get inside before they were spotted, so he nodded his head and said, "I'm ready."

"Yes, you certainly look like it...You're white as a sheet and your clothes are drenched in your own blood. Oh yeah, you're definitely ready to take on the world, Detective," she said, dripping with enough sarcasm to rival Kermit's.

She shook her head, but she backed away and spoke to Joey for a moment, and then glanced over to another woman as she stood beside the car holding Tommy. Peter was feeling so badly and his hold on his consciousness was so tenacious, he didn't have the strength or willpower to come up with some snappy retort.

Peter began to drift away again. Joey's deep voice caused nearly shut eyelids to fly open and Peter jumped violently. He grabbed at his forehead and side in obvious pain from the abrupt movement.

"Sorry about that, mister. Sure didn't mean to scare you like that. Sometimes, I can scare people without even trying," Joey said as he leaned inside the car.

The giant of a man continued to apologize as the throbbing in Peter's head eased somewhat. Without speaking, Peter nodded his acceptance of the apology and the big man said, "I'm gonna help you out of the car now. Listen, you let me do everything here. If I start moving too fast, you just let me know."

Again, Peter nodded in silent reply.

True to his word, Joey used his great strength to pull Peter from the car like he was retrieving a child's rag doll. It was a good thing too, because Peter's own strength had mysteriously deserted him.

Joey moved slow and sure, still Peter couldn't contain a groan that escaped his lips as his left forearm pressed into his side to keep it from exploding. Once Peter was on his feet, leaning heavily against Joey, the big guy paused to give the Peter a chance to collect himself before moving on.

Breathing heavily to push back his pain and gain some strength, Peter slowly scanned the people around, ignoring the telltale signs of blackness encroaching upon his vision with his fully upright position.

Celeste was beside him, cane in hand, looking like she was using her considerable willpower to hide the appearance of hovering, but she failed miserably. Peter figured he was still pale and now there was a sheen of perspiration covering his skin.

There was another woman, whom Peter assumed to be Joey's wife, Judy, holding a very still Tommy in her arms. Her dark expression was grim as she stroked the boy's back, but she was frowning at Peter...or his appearance.

Apparently, Celeste had interrupted Judy's early morning preparations because she was wearing a heavy coat thrown over her pajamas and boots while her raven black hair was pulled back in a rapidly tied knot. She handed Tommy back to Celeste and approached him.

Then, there was Joey who stood a full head above Peter, looking down on him like he was God himself, worrying over the fate of one of his wayward children. Peter's head hurt when he looked up at Joey's face from that angle with the early morning sunshine behind him, so he closed his eyes and let his head drop back down to a more natural position, thinking that Joey was the biggest man he'd ever seen.

Finally, his head wasn't throbbing as much, but his side still ached. When Peter opened his eyes again, he noticed the car at his side and was visibly shaken by the sight. Not only had his car window had been shot out, but virtually all of the windows were gone.

How could he not have noticed that before, he wondered in amazement. Then, the throbbing in his aching temple and side reminded him why his attention might have been affected.

The body of the vehicle was riddled with bullet holes, but miraculously all of the tires were still intact. The fact they had managed to survive, let alone get away from their would-be killers, was a wonder, pure and simple.

Peter went to comment on the condition of the car, but discovered that night must have descended upon them very quickly, because his world had suddenly turned black and without realizing it, oblivion claimed him.

**oOoOoOoOo**


	11. Chapter 11

1

**Chapter Eleven**

"The Beginning of Recovery"

"Joey, just take him on into the spare bedroom while I get my first aid supplies."

Judy stopped at the doorway. "Cel, can you and Joey get his shirt off of him?"

"Sure, sure, Judy. No problem."

Joey pulled off Peter's boots and socks while Celeste unbuttoned his bloody shirt.

Joey's deep baritone voice startled Celeste. "There's blood all over his pants. Step aside and I'll take them off. There's some extra blankets in the-"

"I know where they are. I'll be right back," Celeste said, relieved to be gone for the detective's removal of his pants, preferring to give him that much dignity.

When she came back into the room, Judy was right behind her. Celeste spread one quilt over the other blankets and returned to the task of removing his shirt and t-shirt. "Oh Great Spirits!" Celeste exclaimed with a hand over her mouth.

Turning to Judy, she said, "Oh, no, no. He's got a bullet wound in his side!"

Judy pushed her way through and eyed the wound closely before pulling him towards her to check to see if the bullet had exited or was still there. She gave a sigh of relief when she found the exit wound.

Celeste was under Judy's elbow, nervously watching the condition of her prince protector. Judy caught Joey's eye and gestured with her head. "Call your dad, Joey. Now."

Judy started to usher Celeste out of the room. "Honey, I've got this. You go stay with Tommy for now."

Celeste turned toward the bed and whispered, "Judy, is he going to live?"

Judy bit her lip. "The bullet wound doesn't look that bad, but with the head wound too...I'll do my best. Just make sure Joey gets Whitehorse Sr, okay? Tell him to bring his medicine kit and get here as fast as possible."

**oOoOoOoOo**

Peter came to realize he was in a warm place when he smelled the aroma of something with cinnamon baking and fresh coffee brewing. Wherever he was lying, it was a very soft, toasty warm place with blankets piled atop him, even tucked in at the sides. He drifted in that comfortable environment for a bit before he tried to figure out where he was without opening his eyes.

Had he spent the night with Paul and Annie? She loved to bake for him. No, this place didn't have the other smells of home to go along with it. Where could he be, he wondered. There was an odd scent in the air. Something usually associated with Thanksgiving. An herb of some sort.

He stretched stiff muscles, starting to raise his arms above his head when the fire in his side burst alive with pain, inciting his left temple and forehead to burn along with it. He groaned aloud with his discomfort, trying to bring a hand to the aching areas when he heard the soft sound of a rattle being shaken and a man's low humming begin from somewhere in the room. He was suddenly struck by the impression of being dropped into a scene from the old West.

Bringing a shaky hand to his head, Peter opened his bloodshot eyes in bewilderment. Looking around didn't help him, because everything he saw was doubled or tripled, but Peter knew he wasn't alone. He was also unable to fight off the urge to stay awake, so his eyes slowly closed again.

"Do not worry about me, young man," the aged voice said softly. "I am here praying to the Great Spirits to bring you back to health."

"Great Spirits?" Peter asked with still closed eyes, and a voice so weak it was barely understandable.

"Yes, they have been talking to me. The Owl says there will be death soon. Death in the mountains. Great forces at play and a newcomer would be at the heart of it. The Spirits would not tell me if you will survive or not, but they have promised to watch over you and the boy. The forest has been unsettled by what has happened and what is to come. The badger and the wolf have also whispered of an evil presence in the sacred woods. Maybe they will tell me more. Or perhaps they will tell you instead."

Nothing the old man said made much sense and his head was throbbing way too much to try and understand him, so Peter just drifted away again.

**oOoOoOoOo**

After a bit, Peter became more acclimated to the light and his vision had settled down to one set of images, instead of multiples. Glancing around the room, he saw he was alone. Peter didn't recognize where he was after his eyes adjusted to the bright afternoon light.

It was decorated with a Native American theme, complete with animal furs, pottery, and woven works of art. Peter tried to remember why he was there, but the more awake he became, the angrier his pain levels grew. His hand felt the presence of thick gauze bandages lining the left side of his forehead. Though he worked to remember, his memories were blank as to why he was there, or even how he came to be in that room.

As he looked around more closely, he saw the slow burning embers of some type of herb in a small pottery dish left on the hearth of the fireplace. The dish was surrounded by a variety of other strange-looking objects, like a long smoking pipe with feathers bound together on its stem, and a bizarre rattle with more feathers, but there was no one else in the room except Peter.

He smiled when he recognized the aroma of the herb in the air. It was sage and Annie's favorite seasoning for the Thanksgiving turkey. Finally, he decided the only way he was going to get any answers was to leave his soft, comfy bed and find someone who could tell him what was going on.

Throwing back the covers, he found he was in his boxers, socks, and a brand new undershirt...not the sort he usually bought. Curiouser and curiouser, he thought.

That was when he first noticed the added layer of bulk under his t-shirt. Delicately raising the undergarment, he was shocked to see a heavy gauze dressing taped in place on his side, a bright red in the center of it already staining the bandage. So, that was the source of the pain in his side.

_'What the hell happened,_' he wondered, his brain still fogged with lost memories.

Most bizarre of all, was the long feather tied to a long strand of twine around his neck. Taking the feather in one hand, he lifted it into his line of vision as his face crinkled up in further bewilderment.

After a moment, he decided he had more important things to attend to. He rose slowly, so his head wouldn't give him too much trouble. He eventually managed to get to a sitting position, but he stopped when his side started screaming.

Feeling very woozy, Peter decided that staying put might be the wisest thing to do for the moment. Then, he heard voices from outside his door and knew he wasn't alone. Curiosity got the better of him and he stood gingerly, intending only to peek out and see who was with him in this unfamiliar house.

Walking on what looked like a large bearskin rug, he staggered towards the door and almost made it there before his world tilted. He lunged for the door knob to use as support, but as his arms swept outward, he managed to clip a nearby lamp, sending it to the floor with an obnoxious crash. Peter followed it as he dropped unceremoniously into

a semiconscious heap.

The sound of rapidly approaching feet and opening doors greeted him right before he blacked out. When he awakened again, he was surrounded by Celeste and her friends. His memory came rushing back to him as he recognized Celeste's petite form and he realized that they had to be in the upstairs apartment of Joey and Judy Whitehorse.

Judy moved away a tray with bloodied bandages on them and Peter surmised they had been the dressings he was wearing when he fell. One hand automatically rose to touch his injured forehead while the other brushed against his aching side.

"Stay still, Peter," Judy said softly as she worked.

The sound of a shaken rattle and humming started again and Peter peeked out around Judy to see a wizened old man with the rattle and burning herbs in hand praying by the fireplace.

"Judy, what do you think?" Celeste asked breathlessly.

Their conversation continued, "I've stitched up the stitches that broke open when he fell, but it's the concussion I'm worried about. That fall certainly didn't help him. Maybe Joey's father can do more than my nursing skills. I've seen a Shaman do amazing things before."

"Hey, I'm not that bad off. Don't worry. I've had worse," Peter whispered, and then suddenly reached for Celeste's hand and caught it. "Tommy, is he okay?"

Celeste's expression faded with sadness. "About the same."

Peter started to get up again, surprising all in the room. "I need to move the car."

Joey spoke up, "I've already hidden it away in the garage out back."

Peter didn't relent, now resting on his elbows. "I need to call my Captain, at the very least."

Celeste nodded and Judy brought him a cordless phone.

Everyone else backed away as Peter asked for Captain Blaisdell. His second father wasn't going to be happy about the turn of events, but at least he could call in the cavalry and it wouldn't be up to Peter alone to protect his witnesses.

After ensuring they were on a secure line, Paul exploded. "Peter, where the hell have

you been and why haven't you called in?"

"We've had a delay..." Peter started.

"What kind of delay would make you thirty-six hours late for a required check-in?" Paul's voice was so filled with anger, worry, and concern that Peter could almost feel him breathing down his neck.

"Thirty...six hours?" Peter said, stunned by the lapse in time.

"Yes, you've been AWOL for the past day and a half. Now tell me what's been going on!"

"You aren't going to like it," Peter said with a deep sigh.

He gave Blaisdell a rundown on the hit men's attack, the trip around a mountain on an unmarked road, the car phone's failure, and his own cell phone's problems. He hedged about his injuries. If he said that he was injured, Paul would send in someone to replace him. For some reason, Peter felt more than an obligation to complete his original orders. There was a tangible connection between him and the boy. He knew in his gut he had to see Tommy through this mess safely.

So, he told a white lie that was grounded in truth. "The boy, Tommy Hills, was traumatized by the heavy gunfire. His aunt requested we stay with her close friends in this out of the way place to give him a chance to recover and me a chance to hook up with you. I was just able to get to a working phone to give you this update."

Peter held his breath as Paul considered the information.

"This is not good, son. It was Celeste Crowfoot's greatest fear."

Sighing with relief that Paul didn't push the matter any further, Peter replied, "Yeah, I know. She's holding up pretty good though, all things considered. Paul, I think there's a leak somewhere. I know we'd lost those assassins, but somehow they knew the route we'd be taking to meet up with the state troops. Something is mighty wrong here..."

"Well, I received a telephone call from my friend at the state trooper's headquarters that you missed the rendezvous with them. They began back tracking and found the remains of what looked like a head on collision. You weren't involved in that, were you?"

Peter smiled. "No, but not because they weren't trying damned hard to catch us between two black SUVs. We went off the road and then over a mountain path. It was the only way I could think of to save them. I wasn't up to another encounter with the bad guys, so we backed off to a semi-secure location and that's where we are now."

Paul almost growled with the information. "We've been suspecting some type of leak, now we have confirmation of it. Dammit!"

"That's what I said."

"Tell me where you are and I'll send you some backup. I want you to sit tight until the backup gets there."

"Do you have someone in mind?" Peter asked.

Blaisdell only replied with, "Oh, yeah."

Peter chuckled in response.

"Peter, is your location secure for any length of time?" Paul asked quietly.

"Unknown for sure, but it's far away from where we left the smashed Explorers. I think we've got a pretty good chance of hiding here undetected...Unless there's a delay in my backup arriving. Why do you ask?'" Peter answered, but his senses were warning of more trouble.

"I'm looking for a safe house for you to hold up in..."

"A safe house? Well, Celeste mentioned a cabin–"

"No, don't tell me where. Not even over a secure line. When your backup gets there, I want the three of you to go to the safe house and await orders from me. Your backup will know how to get hold of me, if necessary."

"Wait? How long are we talking here?"

Peter's question was met with a lengthy silence.

"Peter, I'm afraid you may have to remain there until the trial begins."

"BUT THAT'S THREE WEEKS AWAY!" Peter shouted, and then had to hold his head as it ached with a vengeance.

"I know, but I think it's the safest way to go."

"Paul, that's crazy!" he said through gritted teeth.

"No, it's smart and if you would stop to think about it, you'll agree it's smart, too."

A long silence met Paul's response. Finally, Peter spoke, "Well, you better tell my backup to bring a cell phone with plenty of battery packs because they don't have a phone where we will be going."

"Okay, got it. Anything else?"

"Kelly and my long johns..."

Paul chuckled. "I'm afraid I need Kelly, but we might be able to arrange some cold weather clothing."

Peter grunted. He was getting tired again.

"Peter, are you okay? You sound...like you're hurt."

"I'm fine, just tired. Just didn't get a lot of sleep last night," Peter lied.

The call ended shortly afterwards with Peter feeling guilty about lying to Paul. His current health problems would only cause Paul more worry and he didn't need that right now, but there will be hell to pay when Paul finally found out.

_'Maybe,'_ Peter thought, _'I could appease him by saying I'm not as angry at my father anymore. And, perhaps, I've learned something about how others worry for me and that humble feeling is helping me to forgive Pop.'_

Peter sighed. It might work. Hell, they might not even make alive to the cabin, so why worry about possible lectures?

**oOoOoOoOo**


	12. Chapter 12

1

**Chapter Twelve**

"The Healing Way"

Peter awoke to chants and burning herbs. He opened his eyes to find the old man praying over him. He used a feather like a fan to waft the smoke from the herbs over Peter's body as he sang prayers in his native tongue. For as long as Peter could stay awake, he watched with fascination, but finally the need for sleep won out.

When he woke up the next time, he asked for something to eat. Judy brought him a tray with some delicious homemade soup, and then he slept some more. He spent most of the day in bed, napping and consuming food and liquids without getting sick. Judy woke him every hour or so to make sure he wasn't sleeping into a coma.

The old shaman's chanting had a soothing effect on him, almost like he was receiving some of the old man's chi, yet it wasn't the same sensation. It had a different feel to it, but both were helpful only in different ways. And he had to admit he felt stronger than he had upon arriving at the Whitehorse general store.

Judy came in to check on him. She looked at the dressings, and then tested his pupil response. Finally, she put a hand on his forehead. Shaking her head, she pulled out a thermometer.

Once she looked at the reading, she shook her head again. "Just what I thought. You've got a bit of a fever. It's time for your acetaminophen anyway."

She gave Peter the tablets with a glass of water. Peter saw Judy exchange a worried glance with her father-in-law, and then he launched into a new prayer to the spirits on behalf of the injured man in the room.

After a bit, he came over to Judy, and both of them assumed Peter was asleep, but he wasn't.

"Daughter, this man needs to be in a togan for proper healing. A holy place to sweat the poisons from his body."

Celeste was standing at the doorway. "Grandfather, with all due respect, we are not moving this man until he is stronger."

Judy nodded in agreement.

"I will do what I can for him here, but it may not be enough." Whitehorse Sr merely sighed and went back to his corner to pray.

A few more hours of sleep and Peter opened his eyes to see Judy and Celeste beside him. "I need to change your bandages again, hon," Judy said with a hint of apology.

"Sure, if you'll let me get dressed and move around a bit afterwards."

Celeste didn't hesitate. "No, it's too soon, Peter."

Judy put a hand on her friend's shoulder. "It might be good for him. I'll have Joey stay within easy reach of him while he's walking."

Celeste's frown of worry didn't ease with her friend's assurances. Not even when Peter joined the Whitehorses at the dinner table for a real meal while she fed Tommy in the living room.

"I still can't believe you managed to drive over Manners' Crossing with a bullet-riddled car and in your condition!" Joey exclaimed as Judy gave him a plate overflowing with good home-cooked food.

Too bad Peter's stomach felt like it was about to launch a full scale revolt if he swallowed more than a couple of bites, but it felt so good to be up and around. With Kermit arriving later that evening, he had to be ready for action anyway.

"Honey, that's what they call the walking wounded. They look fine, sound fine, but they're really about to die," Judy explained and then stopped herself with a horrified look. "I-I didn't mean you were that sick...Oh, you'll find this hard to believe me, but I worked as an RN in an ER doing triage and patient care for three years at the reservation's main hospital before Joey talked me into marrying him."

Joey and Peter just laughed at her obvious distress.

Celeste chimed in from the living room. "You are still much to pale to be up and about, but I'm not the medical expert here."

Peter was still chuckling. "I don't think I'm anywhere close to dying, not with all of this great food waiting to be eaten. That would be just too cruel."

Peter brought a fork full of food to his mouth to prove his point.

Joey nodded in agreement and patted Peter on the back, not noticing Peter's grunt of pain. "Say, Judy, did I say I liked this guy?"

Judy merely rolled her eyes. "Yes, Joey."

Peter couldn't help but notice that Celeste was even more silent and withdrawn as she

worked with Tommy in the living room, feeding him his dinner by hand. Tommy was a little more aware of his surroundings as he ate, snuggling into Celeste's embrace whenever she tried to encourage him to eat more.

When Peter finished his dinner, he walked over to them. "Hi, sport, how's it going?"

Tommy managed a mild smile at Peter's appearance.

"How about I finish giving you your dinner while Aunt Celeste goes and gets something to eat?"

Celeste shook her head automatically, knowing she was the only one allowed near Tommy when he was like that, but she was surprised when Tommy rose up a bit and nodded his head.

"Oh my God, Joey, look what's happening!" Judy said as she almost dropped an armful of dirty dishes.

Celeste slid away from Tommy and Peter slid back into her place. "Peter, you need to rest soon, too. Joey will stay near by if you need help before I come back."

Peter smiled and nodded to Joey, and then winked at Celeste. "Got it."

As Celeste walked away, Peter whispered with a tone of conspiracy, "I tell you these friends of yours really know how to cook."

Tommy smiled and opened his mouth for the spoonful of mashed potatoes Peter had ready for him. Celeste stood at the entrance to the kitchen with a hand to her mouth and tears in her eyes. Judy came out and hugged her friend, whispering, "Who would have imagined that?"

Tommy had eaten most of the food on his plate when he reached out with his hand and touched the bandage on Peter's head.

"It doesn't hurt much, sport," Peter lied.

Tommy's delicate fingers traced the growing spread of bruising and looked deep into Peter's eyes with his own wondrous silver-gray eyes. Peter's gaze darted away. "Okay, you busted me. It hurts a lot, but I've had worse and that's the truth."

Tommy pressed his hand against Peter's heart again.

Peter knew what he meant as Celeste approached quietly to take away Tommy's dinner plate. Peter was aware of her presence, but he answered anyway, "Yes, this thing on my head is nothing compared to that."

Tommy pressed his head against Peter's chest and promptly fell asleep. Celeste sat down on the coffee table and stared at Peter in awe. "What kind of magic do you have?"

Peter was confused and whispered, "What do you mean?"

"Tommy has bonded to you in a way I haven't seen with anyone except me. Why is that?"

Peter swallowed and began to speak in a low tone, "The night before we left the Zimmerman's, Tommy came to me and showed me the locket with pictures of his parents. I told him how I'd lost my parents when I was just a little older than him. I guess he thinks of me as a kindred spirit, someone who knows what it's like to have your whole world turned upside down."

Celeste had tears in her eyes and they began falling freely. "You must be an angel in disguise, or someone sent by the Great Spirits. Nothing else would explain the change in Tommy so quickly. Thank you!"

She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. "I'll have Joey put him into bed."

Peter shook his head. "Not right away. It feels good to hold him. Maybe he's helping me heal some of my old wounds I thought were long gone."

Celeste nodded. "Okay, but you need to rest yourself soon. Tell Joey when you're ready. I'll be in the kitchen with Judy."

Peter took a deep breath and brushed his fingers through Tommy's thick blonde hair. There weren't many lights on in the living room and the rising moonlight from a nearby window made Tommy's hair seem almost silver in color.

"What was it Celeste called you once? Moonglow? Good nickname for you, little guy. You've got the heart of a fighter. Just keep on fighting your way back and soon you'll be talking up a storm."

Peter continued to sit there, holding the child in his arms, whispering encouragements to him until Celeste came out and had Joey put Tommy in his bed.

"Come on, Medicine Man, time for you to go back to bed yourself."

Peter didn't argue, merely took his time to stand and slowly made his way to the bedroom with Celeste at his side all the way.

**oOoOoOoOo**

While Peter was sleeping, Celeste sat down with Joey and Judy.

"I know this conversation goes without saying, but I have to say it for my own peace of mind. No one, and I do mean no one, can ever know we were here or you'll be risking the lives of everyone at Ansel's, along with your own. Warn Grandfather Whitehorse for me, please."

Joey shook his head and leaned back in his chair. "I already had that conversation with him. He was the one to warn me not to speak of your presence to anyone. He also had a lot to say about Peter and Tommy."

Celeste leaned forward. "Like what?"

"It was about them and the spirits of the forest being disturbed by murderers and assassins. I usually just nod along when he starts talking about the crow telling him this or that, but not this time. This time, I think he's right on target."

Celeste swallowed in reaction and Judy reached over to take her hand. "If Grandfather's predictions come true, then remember the legends of our people. You and I both have seen some pretty strange things happen in that forest. Trust in the Great Spirits to protect you all."

**oOoOoOoOo**

Before leaving, Celeste and Judy gathered groceries for them to take with them to Ansel's cabin. Peter walked in just as Celeste told Jody, "I can't believe we've already been here two days."

"Me, too, but then we've been pretty busy with Tommy and Peter."

Celeste turned toward the door, seeing Peter standing in the doorway. "Speak of the devil, here he is."

Peter smiled at them and rubbed his stomach. "That apple cobbler was excellent. Thank you very much."

He glanced around the room. "Anything I can help with?"

Celeste shook her head. "No, but you can sit here and talk with us. I can't get over how quickly you have recovered from your injuries."

Peter winked at her. "Good genes."

Celeste sighed, but didn't pursue it further.

Judy handed Peter a cup of coffee and went back to organizing several items from a long list. "Just don't push it, Peter. You were seriously injured. Don't you start thinking you can play the Lone Ranger again. At least, not without the risk of serious complications," she paused, surveying him again. "Damn, but you are a miracle."

Peter shrugged and took a sip of his coffee. He stared at the bags and boxes of supplies. "What? Are we moving in for the winter?" he quipped.

Celeste smiled. "No, part of this is to replace Ansel's food supplies for the winter."

"How will Ansel taking our coming unannounced?" Peter asked, scratching at the tape holding his bandage on his temple in place.

"Not a problem. My father said he had a friend going past Ansel's place earlier today and would warn him that your group would be getting in late tonight."

Peter sighed with relief. At least that was one confrontation they wouldn't have to deal with. Joey pulled Peter aside. "You can take our other car since yours is much too noticeable for the road."

Peter reached up and put a hand on Joey's shoulder. "Thanks, Joey, but I think my partner will be arriving with something big enough to carry all of us, even with that mountain of groceries you've gathered up. There are a few things I need to buy for myself before my partner gets here."

With Joey's assistance, Peter was able to pick out a couple of shirts, jeans and underwear, along with some personal supplies since they would be spending the next few weeks with Celeste's relatives.

_'Man, it'll be almost Christmas before we'll get back. Annie will have my hide if I miss Christmas. Not to mention what she'll do to Paul.'_

He also bought some gifts, just in case they were still stuck at the cabin through Christmas. Something he prayed wouldn't happen. And the thought of being with Ansel for three weeks was chewing on the back of his thoughts. Dammit, the mystery man was hard to take even for a few minutes. As he stewed over their upcoming living situation, Joey called to him.

"Okay, your things are all boxed up and ready to go."

Peter reached for his wallet. "How much do I owe you?"

Joey burst out laughing. "Sorry, pal, but your money isn't accepted around here."

When Peter started to protest, the towering man simply folded his arms in front of him, his expression a picture of determination.

"Ah, Joey, you don't have to do that for me. Really."

Joey only shook his head and Peter knew there would be no arguing with him.

"Okay, you win...and thanks."

Joey's demeanor changed immediately and his ever present smile returned. Peter noticed a few touristy type items on one counter, mentioning the Spirit of the Forest. "What's all that about?"

Joey shrugged. "Local folklore. Hey, it sells, so I keep ordering more," the tall man smirked at Peter.

Then Joey turned serious as he helped box up Peter's purchases. "My father truly believes there are spirits protecting the forest and those who go into it. And I guess I do too...to a certain extent. Things have happened while I've been up at Ansel's. Things that can't be explained by our logical world."

Celeste heard their discussion as they came up the stairs. "Oh Joey, don't bore Peter with legends and folklore. He doesn't know anything about the Sioux Nation and doesn't have time to take a crash course from you."

Joey protested. "Listen, my father was adamant about it this time. I tell you, Judy, the 'Spirits of the Forest' are back. The signs are too great to ignore."

Celeste started to argue, but Joey's father had entered the store without making a sound and was standing on the stairs leading to the living quarters. "Do not ignore the signs, daughter. For it will only anger the Great Spirits and they will take the "Spirits of the Forest" away from us. We all need their protection while in those forests. Too many hunters and hikers have been found dead in recent months."

"Three, Grandfather Whitehorse," Celeste countered.

"Three who should not have died and three more that are still missing," he replied as he went into Peter's bedroom.

Peter followed him into the room. "Look, I'd like to thank you for everything you've done to help in my recovery. I never imagined I'd be feeling so much better in such a short time."

The Shaman put his hand to Peter's heart, much like Tommy had done. "There is still much danger surrounding all of you. Remember this, never let Tommy out of your sight. Only together will the two of you will survive. It is your destiny."

Peter sighed. Destiny again. Sarcasm got the better of him and he asked, "Who told you that? The mountain lion?"

Whitehorse shook his head. "No, the wind. And the wind knows because it speaks often with the trees of the forest."

"Why would it be my destiny?"

"Because the Great Spirits have blessed you with healing. Because you have helped Tommy Hills heal."

Peter had a distinct impression he was speaking to a Native American version of his father, and he bowed slightly with respect. When he rose, he said, "I will remember your words...Grandfather Whitehorse."

"You have a good heart and good instincts, young man. The spirits will do the rest."

He gathered his supplies and prepared to leave the room, but then stopped where Peter had sat down on his bed. Whitehorse gave him a small object wrapped in soft leather.

"I have heard you cry out in your dreams and know that you are plagued with nightmares from your past. Perhaps, this will help quiet the nightmares for you."

Peter held up an intricately woven circle with crisscrossing lines like a spider's web. It was surrounded by tan leather with a series of beads and feathers hanging from the bottom. There was a length of leather at the top, tied off so that it could be hung from a wall or a window.

"It is said that one of the Ancients, Spider Woman, wove little dream catchers to place on the cradle boards of the babies to ensure the infants a peaceful slumber. Bad dreams stuck in the spider web-like weaving, unable to go any further, while the good dreams found their way through the openings to the visions of the dreamer.

"You need a dream catcher to stop the bad dreams from coming. Ansel Crowfoot is a man who has known bad dreams. Search him out, learn from him about the land and the spirits, he will save your life with his lifetime spent in pursuit of wisdom."

Peter kept a straight face when Whitehorse mentioned Ansel. Instead of something disrespectful, he simply said, "Thank you, Grandfather. I will take it with me."

"I have been told that if a man dwells on the past, he robs the present. But if a man ignores the past, he may rob the future. The seeds of our destiny are nurtured by the roots of our past. That is where your destiny comes in. Send your roots down into that rich past of yours and you will be able to guide yourself and Tommy along the proper path to survival."

With that said, the Shaman simply nodded once and left, leaving Peter to stare at the simple gift, wondering how much was legend and how much was truth. And the wisdom Whitehorse had just shared with him. Destiny. Why did everyone have the need talk to him about his destiny?

He sighed deeply as he held the dream catcher before his eyes, letting his thoughts drift around the detailed gift. Thoughts of destiny and survival flooded his mind. Deep down, he had a distinct sense that the old man was right.

**oOoOoOoOo**


	13. Chapter 13

1

**Chapter Thirteen**

"The Cabin"

Kermit recognized Peter even sitting all bundled up out on the front porch in the evening chill. Kermit had borrowed a friend's Suburban to transport their group to the yet-to-be disclosed safe house.

Kermit parked and got out of the vehicle. He barked at Peter. "What? Do you have a death wish, Caine? What are you doing sitting out here in the freezing cold?"

"Just thinking. I thought you'd be along soon anyway," Peter said in a strangely distant tone, which caused Kermit to pause with a raised eyebrow.

"Don't they have lights out here?" Kermit asked quietly.

"I guess so...Didn't feel like having them on."

"So, what are you hiding from?"

"Hiding, huh?" Peter responded as he shook his head gently, but didn't volunteer any more information.

"And what's with the hat? Never saw you wear one like that before." Kermit was zeroing in on the source of his suspicions.

"You said yourself it was freezing cold out here."

"I don't like to repeat myself and I don't like interrogating people I generally consider to be my friends. Most of all, I don't like standing out in the cold. So just tell me what the hell is going on, so I can go inside and get warm."

Without saying a word, Peter reached up and pulled off the rolled up ski cap from his head. Even in the dim light shining in from the lit windows inside, Kermit could see Peter had a black eye and extensive bruising. It spread down and across his face, though the worst of it had to be hidden by the swathing of bandages.

"Blaisdell didn't say anything about you being hurt."

Peter scratched his cheek in a distracted way and muttered, "Well, it could be because I didn't say anything to him about it."

"Well, you sure as hell better start talking to me and I mean talking to me about everything. But we are going inside to do it, if you don't mind."

Kermit stormed over to the door and threw it open, waiting as Peter slowly stood, but didn't move from his chair. "We aren't going inside just yet. That's the very reason why I waited for you out here and not inside. I didn't want you to scare the shit of those poor folk with your menacing ways."

Peter held a fist against his side when his knees buckled and Kermit caught him before he toppled over. "Whoa," Peter whispered.

Kermit settled him back into his chair and knelt before him, giving him close examination.

"Feeling better?" the ex-merc asked finally.

"Yeah, sorry about that. And about having to talk out here, but there's a little boy in there who's already been through hell and back. He doesn't need to hear-"

"Okay, I get the picture." Kermit sighed as he got up and went to close the front door before returning to Peter. "I'll behave myself on his account, but know this...You have a lot of explaining to do, and if I don't like what I'm hearing, we may need to have another visit out to the front porch? Got that?"

Peter ran through the details of the last twenty-four hours while Kermit tossed in an occasional question. Finally, Peter stopped, taking a deep breath before he continued, "The whole thing was screwed from the beginning, Kermit. No working radio in the car. Then when we were in trouble, I couldn't use the damned car phone to call for help, and the mountains were screwing my cell phone reception."

"Do you think you were followed after the Explorers collided?"

"No way. And the road we took to get here wasn't really a road, but a trail crossing a hill and a huge field, and then we drove for another hour to reach this place. The Whitehorses, the people who own this place, hid my car, and closed down the store for the time we've been here. We've just been bidding our time until you could get here."

"And the safe house we are going to?" Kermit asked.

"Sounds like something from that movie, Rambo. It belongs to Celeste's uncle who lives like a hermit on one of those huge mountains. She says he's got it rigged with booby-traps six ways from Sunday."

"Lovely," Kermit said, sitting back as he stretched his neck.

"Yeah, well, I'm about as excited about being up there for three weeks as you are."

"No hotdogging on this trip, kid. You're already battered. You're going to get strong, and then help me and this Ansel do regular daily patrols. We are dealing with top-notch hit teams here and I don't want any screwups. Got it?"

"Yeah, I've got it," Peter grumbled as he entered the first floor, and then added, "And the bears up on that mountain there got it too."

"Don't push me, kid," Kermit warned.

**oOoOoOoOo**

They started loading up the rear of the four wheel drive Suburban with the groceries, belongings, and gifts that Celeste had brought for Tommy. Peter couldn't help but notice Kermit's duffle bag. He touched it and it wasn't filled with just clothes, rather it felt like it held enough weapons to hold off Attila, the Hun and his invading forces.

For some reason, the presence of Kermit and his mysterious possessions reassured Peter, taking most of the weight off of Peter's shoulders. Judy came out with a huge medical kit and began rattling off instructions to Celeste and Peter on wound care.

"Watch that bullet wound closely, and for worsening signs of his concussion. Call if you need to. I'll stay close to the phone. And I'll be praying for all of you. The whole family will be. You'll get through this, Celly. God, I love you!"

She hugged Celeste, and then Peter, just as Joey brought out a still sleeping Tommy, wrapped in two quilts. He put him on one of the back seats and fastened the safety belt without the child awakening.

Kermit slipped up behind Peter. "Bullet wound?"

Peter scrunched his face in disdain. "Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you about that one."

"When we get up there, you will tell me everything twice, just so you won't forget any other minor details like being shot," Kermit whispered to Peter's back as he headed for the van.

"Thanks for everything," Celeste said as Joey helped her into the front passenger seat.

Peter crawled in beside Tommy and Judy slipped a pillow under his neck and tossed a quilt over him. "Thanks, Judy, you're the best nurse I've ever had. And your father-in-law was the best...medicine man I've ever seen. Actually, he's the only one I've ever seen. And Joey, well, Joey is the biggest damned thing I've ever known that was alive and moving. Sure glad he's on our side."

Judy kissed him on the cheek. "Just come back to us, safe and sound. I'll make a very special celebration dinner when you show up after Celeste does her thing in court."

"It's a deal."

Kermit had the engine idling and once everyone had said their goodbyes, he headed out in the direction Celeste had indicated. Peter glanced back and saw the couple holding tightly to one another. He didn't need to see their faces to know they were still very worried about the survival of their friends.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Kermit was glad he'd managed to borrow the Suburban because they needed every inch of space to get everyone and everything packed into it. He glanced back in his rear view mirror and saw Peter was already sleeping.

He was worried about the pale, listless demeanor of his friend and coworker. He wasn't sure how to take Celeste Crowfoot. She seemed to be wound tighter than his grandmother's ancient cuckoo clock, but given the grim nature of their situation, he couldn't fault her.

Kermit felt like a glorified chauffeur/armed escort, traveling on a road that was barely a road without streetlights and very few road signs. At least there was a full moon out to provide some additional illumination.

With Peter and Tommy sleeping, Celeste was completely nonverbal unless there was some road direction she had to give to him, leaving Kermit alone with his thoughts. Sometimes, that was a very scary place to be. His mercenary instincts told him there would be more trouble before everything was said and done. Too many 'mishaps' had happened so far on Peter's journey.

He knew from experience, mishaps often became organized events when one could look back and actually see the progression from beginning to end. Kermit was walking into the middle of this escapade and suspected the mishaps would only continue to occur until someone stopped them. Someone like him.

The poor schmucks, whoever they were, would be in a world of pain if they ever tried to launch an assault on the mountain cabin where they were heading. Paul had begun the process of finding the person who had leaked vital information to the hit teams. God save them if Paul was the one to confront them with solid evidence.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Celeste navigated Kermit through the most complicated series of booby-traps that Kermit had seen in several years. Ansel Crowfoot definitely had issues regarding personal safety and privacy.

And the old man was waiting outside for them when they arrived in the dead of night. He had some spotlights on in front of the cabin and pointed to an area where Kermit could park. He went immediately to Celeste, easing her body from sitting on the front seat to standing on the ground, making sure she had her cane in hand before he gave her a bear hug.

"Dammit, Little Raven, I warned you something like this would happen. Just wait until I get my hands on that damned police detective!"

Celeste stopped him with a hand to his shoulder. "Ansel, if he hadn't done the amazing things he did, we'd already be dead."

Kermit walked around the front of the vehicle and offered his hand. "Hello, I'm Kermit, and a very good friend of the man who was shot and injured while saving the lives of your family, so let's keep the threats against him to a minimum or I might have to get irritated. Most people don't like to see me irritated, especially those who caused the irritation."

Ansel gave Kermit a closer inspection, peering through his coke-bottom glasses. "Where did you serve?"

Kermit straightened. "More hell holes than I'd like to mention, let alone remember, but right now, I'm a cop whose only duty is to keep your family members alive and well."

"Honored to meet you, Kermit," Ansel said, holding out a hand.

When Celeste made an expression of surprise, Kermit asked what was wrong.

"Most first meetings with Uncle Ansel don't go quite that smoothly," she said with surprise still lilting in her voice.

Then she moved stiffly toward the back door to check on Tommy.

Kermit looked to Ansel who shrugged his shoulders innocently and grunted. "Sometimes, I get a bad rep, I guess."

Kermit patted him on the back. "We've got the rear end of this bus filled with supplies and gear to unload and I'd like to catch a little shuteye before daylight hits."

"Okay, let's stop gabbing and get to it."

Celeste struggled as she carried Tommy, and Kermit took him from her. "Where to?"

"The rear of the house. It used to be his grandfather's bedroom when he was a child."

"To the rear of the house it is then."

"Thank you, Kermit," Celeste offered, but Kermit could hear the deep fatigue in her voice, along with the echo of physical pain. He didn't say a word about it, only put Tommy on the bed and let Celeste finish up with him.

As he headed outside, he figured it would take at least a half hour to move everything into the cabin. But first, he needed to check on Peter, since he hadn't awakened on his own. Kermit opened the door to Peter's side of the back seat and shook his arm gently. Peter didn't move.

"Come on, kid. We're at the cabin. Time to get inside. There's a roaring fire in the fireplace and a bottle of whiskey waiting for you."

Still, Peter didn't move. Kermit put a hand to Peter's face and found it hot with fever.

"Damn!" Kermit exclaimed.

Ansel peeked around the back of the Suburban with a questioning look. "I can't get him to wake up and he's got a hell of a fever."

"Well, let's get him inside and let Celeste take care of him until we get the supplies stored. I don't like the idea of having so many lights on this late at night."

"I know, I've been thinking the same thing myself. I'll take him by the shoulders if you can get his feet."

The old man grunted. "Got 'em, but hurry up, I don't know how long I'll be able to carry him."

Kermit nodded as they headed toward the house. Things had just jumped from dangerous to possibly deadly, if they couldn't rouse Peter or get his temperature down.

_'Paul warned me to look out for trouble, but I didn't think it would mean the party had already started without me,' _he thought as he slowed to begin the upward climb up the steps leading to the front porch, and then into the house.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Peter struggled to awaken from the delirious fever that held him in its clutches. He was in a strange place, an unworldly place set in his dream world. Yet, it wasn't completely foreign to him, parts of reality mixed with equal parts of legend.

In the background, he could hear many drums softly beating in rhythm, the aroma of sage and pine and leather and smoke, along with other odors Peter couldn't identify. He heard deep voices that seemed to echo for miles around him.

At first, he couldn't understand them, for they spoke in a foreign tongue. He forced his eyes open to see who it was talking and as he opened them, he understood their words.

"He must live. If he does not, the Crowfoot line will end. They have honored us with respect time after time. This white man must live, so the others will live on and multiply."

Peter craned his head around to catch a glimpse of the beings talking about him, but he felt so tiny compared to their voices.

"Wolf spirit, what do you say?" asked the deepest voice, sounding as if he was in authority.

"I say remember the legends,_ 'The great trees took pity on the people as they struggled against the harsh winters and hot summers, offering themselves to give them fuel for heating in the cold times and shade in the hot times._

_'Then the Beaver spirit told the forest one morning that man needed a defender or they would not survive. After a long talk, each of the mighty trees gave up a part of their life force and created the 'spirit of the forest' to help protect the people. In return, the people would be grateful for their great gift.' _That is all I have to say"

There was a long silence and Peter cursed the mists limiting his vision of the great ones. Finally, the deepest voice spoke again, "Forest spirit, what do you say?"

There was a breeze that moved part of the mists away and Peter could make out huge, looming tree tops overhead. They began to sway and Peter forced himself to listen to the whispers of the forest spirit.

"I agree with Wolf. If we do not act, the forests will be overrun with evil. It must be ended before it begins."

"We will talk more of this later, and then decide on the fate of this stranger."

Peter swallowed, wondering if they were really trying to decide if he was going to live or die. The beating drums became louder and the mists hid everything from him. Finally, his eyelids became too heavy to keep open, so he fell back into his feverish state.

**oOoOoOoOo**


	14. Chapter 14

1

**Chapter Fourteen**

"The Great Spirits"

When Peter opened his eyes a few days later, he was relieved to see Kermit and Celeste beside his bed. "Is everyone okay?" he rasped, his voice dry.

"Everyone except you, and I think you're going to make it now. Though, I had my doubts for a while," Celeste said with a tired voice. "You've been out for three days."

Peter's mouth dropped open as he tried to add up the number of days he had been unconscious in the past week.

"You were having some pretty strange dreams over the days, kid," Kermit said.

Peter started to sit up, but fell back to the bed and groaned. "That will teach you not to move so fast," Ansel said.

"Now you tell me," Peter groaned, going silent until he remembered his dreams again. "The dreams, they were strange, Kermit. Really strange. Like I was in another place, another world, another...something."

"What do you mean, Peter?" Celeste asked as she handed him a glass of water. Peter caught a worried exchange between her and Ansel.

"Thanks, my mouth is so dry," he said, taking long sips and sighing with relief.

He saw the others waiting for him to explain further about his dreams and handed the cup back to Celeste.

"There were drums beating, constantly beating, and shamans chanting in the background, using burning sage, and I saw medicine bags, lances, and smoking pipes like Grandfather Whitehorse had, but everything was huge. I felt like I was the size of a fly. And these mighty voices were debating if I should live or not..."

"Mighty voices? Did they mention any names?" Ansel pushed closer.

"Wolf, Bear, Badger, Forest spirits. I can't remember any more than that. I guess they decided I should live because I'm awake."

"But not exactly up to kicking ass yet," Kermit smirked.

Peter glanced over at Ansel and Celeste who stood motionless, without a word.

"What? What is it?" Peter asked, concerned about whatever had them so stunned.

"You were with the Great Spirits, boy," Ansel said finally.

Peter chuckled at the thought. "The Great Spirits, right. You don't mean 'the' Great Spirits?"

"Don't joke, Peter. Never joke about the spirits. You were given life by the Great Ones. It is not a gift to be taken lightly."

Peter stared at them, seeing only reverence and sincerity, and then glanced over to Kermit who shrugged. The silence was broken by Tommy who came running into the room when he saw that Peter was awake.

"Whoa, easy, sport, I'm not quite up to wrestling yet," Peter said softly.

Tommy stopped at Peter's side and put his hand to Peter's heart. The boy's mouth dropped open with awe.

Peter sighed and his eyes closed. "I think I'm gonna sleep some more..."

The group left the room without another sound.

**oOoOoOoOo**

After a few days with no sign of trouble, everyone agreed it would be safe to venture outside for exercise and patrols as long as they stayed close to the cabin. Kermit noticed how happy Ansel and Celeste were to see Tommy perking up with the return to the familiar safety of the cabin.

And Kermit was amused by the interactions between Tommy and Peter, almost as if they were long-lost brothers now reunited. There was no denying the bond between the two, because they rarely left each other's side. Peter was still moving slowly, but his fever was gone and he was eating like a horse again. His wounds were healing quickly. It almost seemed like being with Tommy actually sped up Peter's recovery time.

Meanwhile, Kermit and Ansel had discovered they were also kindred spirits, always on constant alert, spending their free time talking about war stories and going over the property's defensive and offensive capabilities, incorporating a few of Kermit's ideas and equipment he'd brought with him into Ansel's present defense systems.

"Tell me, Ansel, did you choose this place because it provided a view of anyone approaching by road? So you can be ready to activate your booby-traps? And then run to one of your hiding places, fully stocked with supplies?"

Ansel chuckled, and then spit out the juice from his chewing tobacco. "You think I might have overdone it a smidgen?"

Kermit smirked. "I just admire a man who is prepared for any and all events."

"I set up most of the booby-traps and supplied hiding spots when Cel and little Tommy came up here for protection."

"They know where the booby-traps and mini-safe houses are located?" Kermit asked with his hands warmly residing in the pockets of his parka.

"Sure as shooting, they know. I've tested them on it several times."

"Mind showing me and Peter where they are? I'd just hate to blow myself up by accident."

Ansel chuckled to himself. "Get Peter and Tommy and I'll take you on the grand tour."

Kermit zipped up his parka and put on his gloves as he stepped onto the porch where Peter and Tommy were involved in some type of carving project.

"Come on, guys, Uncle Ansel is going to show us where he has hidden his fun toys and hideouts."

Tommy jumped to his feet, pulling on Peter's arm in excited anticipation.

"Okay, okay, sport, I'm coming. Geez, give a guy a break. I need my heavier coat and so do you. The temperature seems to be dropping lower each day," he said to Kermit as Tommy ran for their jackets.

"Frankly, I'm hoping for warmer temps, not just for comfort, but so that it will snow. Easier to spot tracks of unwanted visitors that way," Ansel told Kermit.

By then, Tommy was back wearing his other jacket and carrying Peter's. "Guess it's time for the tour. Kermit, lead on," Peter muttered as he retrieved his gloves from his pocket.

After handing Peter his jacket, Tommy gave Peter his cap. "Oh, you think I need this, sport?"

Tommy nodded as he pointed to the cap he was already wearing.

"I don't know, Peter, the bandage looks so cute," Kermit quipped.

"Har-har-har. Well, something on my head in this cold isn't such a bad idea," he said tapping Tommy on the chin.

Tommy began climbing all over Ansel as Kermit stopped beside them.

Peter paused. "Oops, I want my sun glasses. It's too bright out here."

"Move it, Peter, or we'll leave you behind," Kermit growled.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be there in a moment."

Peter stepped into the house and found Celeste peeking out a window and chuckling at her young nephew's return to normal activities. She glanced to Peter. "What are you men folk preparing to do?"

Peter said as he grabbed his sunglasses. "Ansel's going to show where the booby-traps and hidden hideouts are."

"I swear Kermit and Ansel are literally feeding each other's paranoia. It's almost too frightening to watch."

Peter chuckled. "Huh, I was just thinking I've never seen Kermit happier."

Celeste gave him a withering stare, "You people are just plain sick," she said in a huff and returned to the kitchen to finish dinner.

Looking over at Kermit and Ansel, waiting for him to return, he murmured softly, "Oh, yeah."

**oOoOoOoOo**

After the tour, Ansel and Kermit went off plotting, leaving Peter and Tommy alone in the living room while Celeste was finishing up dinner.

Tommy looked at Peter long and hard and put his hand to Peter's forehead. "Yep, I've got a headache and my side hurts too. Maybe we did a little too much today."

Peter glanced over to two tall bookshelves filled with hundreds of books. Most of them were old and yellowed with age, but there were some interesting titles. Tommy got up and pulled out a small book, gesturing to Peter to follow him back to the sofa.

Looking at the title, Peter glanced down at Tommy in surprise. It was entitled, "The Spirits of the Forest". The subject intrigued Peter, especially since Tommy was the one to pull it out. The pages were well worn, as if the book had been thumbed through several times.

"You like this book, sport?" Peter asked, watching Tommy's head bob up and down with enthusiasm.

Peter found out in the first few pages that the story was based on a true accounting of an anthropologist's attempts to gather information on a local Sioux Indian's tribal legend of the Spirit of the Forest. It was written in the 1920's. The pages were full of illustrations. That was probably the part Tommy liked the best. Peter's headache kept him from getting too excited about the book, but for Tommy's sake, he'd play along.

Peter started to read aloud when Celeste limped in, wiping her hands on a towel. "Peter, could you yell for Ansel and Kermit? Dinner's almost ready to put on the table."

"Sure. Come on, Tommy, let's go round up the old coots," Peter said as he tweaked Tommy's nose, making the boy laugh out loud.

Celeste's hand went to cover her mouth. Tommy was already out the door when Peter noticed Celeste's unmoving form. "Celeste, what's the matter?"

"He laughed...laughed out loud! The last time I heard that laughter was the night his parents were killed. Oh thank God, maybe he is finally ready to come past that nightmare."

Peter put a hand on her shoulder. "I can tell there's been healing recently. I can almost see it in his heart. Don't be surprised if he reaches out to you with words very soon."

"From your lips to God's ears," she whispered.

Peter started for the door when Ansel, Kermit, and Tommy came to the porch. They paused to pull off their boots and then entered. The group stood beside the fireplace, and Ansel threw another log on the fire.

"What am I smelling?" Kermit asked, obviously hungry.

"Come and see for yourself, Kermit," Celeste said as she began placing the bowls and platters of food on the table. "But not a morsel until all of you go wash up and I do mean properly, not just running your fingers under the facet."

She stared at Tommy with her last comment.

Soon, the male contingent was back and at the table, filling their plates with steaming food. "Celeste, my dear, you are a fantastic cook!" Kermit said with enthusiasm. "Day after day, you never cease to amaze me."

"You just say that because you didn't have to prepare it," Celeste replied with a wide grin.

"Very true, but it doesn't change the fact that this is a meal worthy of the gods."

Peter laughed at Kermit's comments. Geez, he must have been starving, or maybe the higher altitude was getting to him. Whatever the reason, Kermit and the others all had seconds of everything.

Celeste started to pick up the empty bowls and platters when Peter stopped her. "You made this feast. The least I can do is the dishes while you get Tommy ready for bed."

The aunt raised a hand to Peter's stubbled cheek. "You are a godsend, that is for sure and for certain, as my father used to say. Come along, Tommy, it's bath time and then bedtime."

Peter watched from the sidelines as Tommy's demeanor indicated he didn't agree with her. In the end, he lost the contest of wills and Peter started washing. Kermit came in and started to dry the dishes without a word.

"The boy really seems to be taken with you," Kermit said finally.

Peter nodded and took a deep breath before speaking. "I don't understand it myself, but from the very first moment we looked at each other, we became soul mates."

"From a common bond of tragedy?"

Peter dried his hands, taking a break before he started on the pots and pans. "I guess you could say that, but he had no way of knowing about my past until I told him. Maybe he was just looking for someone to use as a substitute father figure..."

"Or?" Kermit queried.

Peter took a pan and dunked into the bubble-filled sink. "Or maybe he has an intuitive way of knowing things, kind of like my father, but much less developed. What is it they say when you lose one sense? The others work harder to make up for the loss. Maybe what Tommy got from his lack of speech was a way to look into people's hearts and know...just know what's inside."

"Yeah, well, you might be right. Something positive is happening with that kid. But, sometimes, you just lose me with all that mystical mumbo-jumbo," Kermit said as he placed his folded towel on the counter, preparing to leave.

"It's saved your life more than once," Peter said softly.

"Yes, it has, and just knowing that fact is enough to drive me batty at times."

Peter chuckled at his friend as he disappeared for other parts of the house, leaving Peter to finish up the last few pans.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Later on, Peter had taken a chair next to the fireplace and picked up the book Tommy had chosen for them to read. When Ansel entered the living room and saw what he was reading, the old man smiled sadly.

"That was a gift from my brother, Celeste and Connie's father. Tommy likes to look at it, though the words are little too grown up for him to read it. It seems like he enjoys the idea of holding the book close to his heart, appreciative of a gift from a grandfather he never knew. I swear that boy has an old soul."

Peter looked up from the book. "An old soul?"

"The way he acts and reacts remind me of someone much older. It was seeing his parents gunned down that caused him to mature much faster than any person should have to do."

Ansel wiped a hand across his face and yawned, "Time for bed. I guess that will make you the last one awake. Just be sure to turn off the lights when you turn in."

"Sure, no problem, Ansel. Sleep well."

Peter looked at the book again, remembering the tales of the Spirit of the Forest Joey told him while staying with the Whitehorses. Was it a coincidence that Joey would tell him stories of the local mysteries and then that was the very subject of the book Tommy wanted him to read to him? His father always said there were never any coincidences, that everything was a part of life's unfolding mysteries. Peter sighed as he thought of his father, wherever he was, wishing he could give him a hug, along with an apology to Lo Si.

Peter shook his head in disgust. 'Sometimes, I think my mouth will be the death of me...'

He opened the book and began to read. It was fairly dry stuff, so Peter knew he'd be paraphrasing the text to make it more interesting to the boy, and perhaps even adding his own touches to the tale to make it more exciting.

**oOoOoOoOo**


	15. Chapter 15

1

**Chapter Fifteen**

"The Spirit of the Forest"

There was a lull in the snow storm after falling pretty heavily for a few days. Nobody said anything, but all were aware of the court date, now only days away.

Being stuck inside during the snowstorm gave Peter a nasty case of cabin fever. He no longer needed a bandage on his forehead and the wound in his side was healing nicely. He walked out from the porch and into the snow, and took a deep breath of fresh mountain air. The sun had barely risen, sliding long spikes of gold to cause the shadows of night to scurry into its hiding place.

God, it felt so good to be alive, Peter thought as he considered how close they came to being killed. There was a wet smack hitting the back of his jacket and Peter spun around, seeing Tommy trying to hide behind a tree.

"Now, I wonder who threw that snowball? There's nobody out here that I can see," Peter said aloud while heading in Tommy's direction, scooping up enough snow to make a decent snowball, "Maybe it was the Spirits of the Forest playing with me. Or..."

He spun around the tree and got Tommy good with his snowball. "Or maybe it was just a little guy called Moonglow, huh?"

Peter grabbed Tommy and tickled him, making the boy laugh out loud. The two teetered for a second and then fell over into the snow, still laughing. Tommy lay still, then spread out his arms, making a snow angel, which Peter followed suit.

When they stood, they looked at their snow angels and smiled. "Are you hungry, sport?" Peter asked.

Tommy nodded emphatically.

"How about the two of us surprise Aunt Celeste by making breakfast ourselves?"

Tommy smiled in mutual conspiracy. They made a big deal of sneaking back into the cabin to start cooking the morning meal.

After serving up a delicious breakfast, Peter and Tommy went to their corner of the front porch and began working on their Christmas projects again, being very secretive about the whole thing. The other adults left them alone, still amazed by the change coming over Tommy in the brief time they'd been there.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Kermit and Ansel had been out checking the perimeter of cabin, making sure there wasn't any sign of unwanted visitors. They were just walking up the steps of the porch when Ansel said, "'_When you enter a grove peopled with ancient trees, higher than the ordinary and shutting out the sky with their thickly intertwined branches, do not the stately shadows of the wood, the stillness of the place, and the awful gloom of this domed cavern then strike with the presence of a deity?'"_

Ansel shrugged."I don't remember who said that, but I suspect they'd been to these woods and seen the magic of the forest for themselves."

Celeste nodded her head at the familiar words.

"Spirit of the Forest, Ansel?" Kermit asked, questioning the terminology.

"Stranger things have happened in this world, my friend," Ansel said.

"That's right, Kermit. You've seen enough of the things my father can do to know better than to question local folklore," Peter tossed in from the corner of the porch.

"There is a very old Buddhist saying that goes something like this,

_'I view the colored peak_

_Incised upon the autumn sky;_

_Listen to the pine grove_

_In the calm night._

_Someone not seen_

_For a long time_

_is practicing the Way_

_In snowy clouds.'_

Peter paused for a moment, "Almost sounds like 'The Spirit of the Forest", doesn't it, Tommy? Besides the more I read from that book of Tommy's, the more it makes me believe."

Tommy hopped up and ran inside. He came back with the book about the Spirit of the Forest, ready for Peter to read more to him. Peter sighed as he set down the project they had been working on and covered it carefully.

Reaching out for Tommy and the book, he pulled them into his lap and found the bookmark showing where they'd left off. He began reading and Tommy flashed Celeste a big smile. She returned it and then went back to her stitchery.

Kermit turned to Ansel. "How are your booby-traps powered?"

"Batteries. Why?"

"Good, but when was the last time you changed them?

"I don't know off hand, but I've got them each dated when I put them in."

"Let's go check them out. You said you've got a back door escape. Where is it?"

"I've got canoes down by the creek. That's our back door."

Kermit nodded in thought. Ansel chomped on his chewing tobacco and spit the juice into the snow. "Let me grab a package of batteries in case we've got to change any of them."

"Okay, I'll wait here."

Peter walked up to Kermit. "Aren't you two taking this a bit to the extreme? We are well protected here. Why keep checking and rechecking?"

"That's because it's what a well-prepared soldier does," Kermit said. "Besides, there's nothing else to do."

"You could relax a bit."

"And spoil my intense persona? Don't be ridiculous," Kermit quipped as he watched Tommy race off the porch.

The snow had started to fall again and Tommy was trying to catch the snow flakes with his tongue. Ansel came outside, carrying his supply of batteries and the two ex-soldiers started off. Tommy ran to catch up with Ansel, stopping him with a big, bear hug.

Ansel returned the hug. "I love you, too, Moonglow."

Tommy pointed to Ansel's cane and gestured with his fingers like he was shooting. Ansel burst out laughing. "That's right. You remembered, did you now?"

Peter stood and wandered over to the group. "What did he mean by that?"

Ansel gave Peter an evil stare, holding up his cane for all to see, and triggered a mechanism in the handle, firing off a shot.

"Whoa," Peter said as he jumped along with Kermit.

"Just like Bat Masterson," Ansel said as he whooped with laughter at startling the two police detectives. "See, I've got plenty of tricks up my sleeve."

He reached into a pocket and reloaded the cane. "Come on, I thought you wanted to check out the booby traps again."

Peter called out to Kermit, "We are going for a walk in the forest, looking for some pieces of wood we could use."

Ansel's expression darkened. "Mind you to be watchful of the booby-traps."

"I know where they are and so does Tommy. We'll be fine."

**oOoOoOoOo**

Kermit and Ansel returned right before lunch. Peter was on the living room sofa, reading to Tommy from his favorite book when strange mists started to form periodically around the cabin, causing Ansel to wander outside and stare at them in wonder.

Kermit followed him out. "Do you get fog like this often?"

"Fog?" Ansel grunted. "That's no fog, boy."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Ansel squinted up at the towering trees surrounding the cabin and then to the sky. "Something's at play in these woods. Something more than nature. Something my grandfather used to hint at."

"And what's that?"

"The Great Spirits at play. You make a derogatory comment about that and I'll string you up to the nearest tree."

"My lips are sealed. Besides, there is something different about these woods than when we first got here. I've learned over the past few years never to question the possibility of something greater than what is narrowly accepted as normal."

"Hmm...a fellow believer, I see. Never would'a thought it of you just to see you on the street."

With that, Ansel limped back into the cabin, leaving Kermit to stare at the strange mists and wonder about the possibility of the impossible.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Kermit was sitting on the front porch, sipping from a steaming cup of freshly made coffee, enjoying the peace and serenity of the mountain view. He hadn't slept the previous night because he had been swapping old war stories with Ansel in front of the fireplace over a bottle of whiskey.

The old man was quite a character and Kermit enjoyed spending time with him. Ansel had also been a prisoner of war, but in World War II, captured by the Japanese. He was one of the few who had survived the infamous Bataan Death March.

"Men kept dropping like flies, but still they made us march. Without food. Without water. Without tending to the injured. Beating on us for no reason. That's where I got my limp. I lost a lot of good friends that day. Way too many for a good man to deal with."

He tossed back a shot of whiskey.

"Where were you captured?" Ansel asked, turning the attention to Kermit.

Kermit swirled the alcohol in his glass without answering. That period of time in his life was nicely boxed up and stored away, until something triggered the nightmares. The ex-merc glanced into the fire and felt a hand on his shoulder.

"No need to speak of it, boy. Some things are better left unsaid."

Sighing deeply, Kermit said, "'_Defining moments in life sometimes stab at your heart and threaten to carry you under in a wave of self-doubts, remorse, or loss. Other times, it becomes your shield against all the world can throw at you.'_"

Ansel rubbed his ruddy face. "I once thought going through that war and the imprisonment was the worst life could throw at me, but after I got back home, I saw so many of my buddies unable to adjust. They were still lost in that nightmare world and either drank themselves to death, or died by their own hand. Yep, that was the worst of it.

"There's even a fellow from the Desert Storm campaign that lives in a cave down the creek a ways. Poor soul can't even remember his full name, let alone deal with the twentieth century rigamarole. I try to leave him some supplies when I've got extra, checking on him now and then, but each time I visit, I half-expect to find him dead."

Kermit held up his glass. "A toast. A toast to those who didn't make it home and to those who never found home again."

Ansel tipped his glass toward Kermit before they both downed the shot. He wiped the residual alcohol from his lips and leaned closer to Kermit. "I've learned, if you stare at the rearview mirror while driving down the highway of life, you're bound to get into an accident."

Kermit chuckled at the man's wry humor, but didn't say anything.

Ansel stood slowly. "I'm hungry. You want a sandwich or something?"

Kermit shook his head. "Not right now, but thanks."

He continued to stare into the fire, forcing ancient memories back into their assigned compartments. Ansel tapped him on the shoulder, startling Kermit out of his silent musing.

"I thought you'd fallen asleep with your eyes open. Not many men can keep up with me on a night of drinking like we've had."

Kermit smiled. "We're just getting started, right?"

Ansel whooped with laughter. "I like you, boy. I really do."

He settled back in his chair. "My father built this cabin with his own hands. After the war, I came here to heal, both body and spirit. My brother, William, Connie and Celeste's father, would come up and spend time with me occasionally, but mostly it was me and the mountain. There's something healing in this place, I tell you. Almost magical."

He cleared his throat and glanced sheepishly to Kermit. "Maybe I can't hold my whiskey like I used to."

Kermit shook his head. "It's beautiful here. That in itself is healing."

"After William had Celeste and Constance, he'd bring them up here too. Those little angels worked the real magic, their magic of innocence reached into that dark hole of my lost soul and brought life back to my once dead heart. But they could only do so much. I needed to feel safe, so I started putting up booby-traps, always warning family about them first. And then, the dugouts with supplies.

"Once that was done, I truly felt safe. As safe as any man can be when haunted from a past that refused to allow peace. But I found my peace finally. These forests are special too, special to our people and our beliefs and I pay homage to those beliefs every morning and evening."

Kermit looked out a window. "Speaking of morning..."

Ansel stood and peered out the window. "Well, what do you know? Time to go offer my prayers. I'll be back in a bit."

Kermit made a pot of coffee and threw some water on his face. He put on his jacket and went outside to enjoy his coffee and the view. He saw Ansel off a ways, burning some leaves, scooping the smoke to his heart and over his head in a reverent manner as he prayed.

Then he was surprised to see Peter outside too. Just when he'd slipped out, Kermit wasn't sure, but he was slowly going through a simple set of Tai Chi movements. He had barely begun when his shadow, namely Tommy, appeared at his side like a mime, following Peter's every move. The sight brought a smile to Kermit's lips.

**oOoOoOoOo**

"The trial is in less than a week! Dammit, I paid you an enormous sum to rid me of this problem and all you've given me is excuses. Find those two and kill them or I'll hire a dozen teams to get rid of you! Do you understand me?"

"Understood, but you've got to get us more information. This area is huge and desolate. We can't just drive around and hope to come across them."

"I'll make contact with my source again, but this is the last time. The risk to myself is too great with a third attempt."

"Roger."

The elderly man's hands were shaking when he hung up the phone. He had stared down hostile takeovers with much less stress. He looked over at his son, already strung out at 9AM. He sighed. "What am I doing this for? My son?"

He walked into the atrium and sat in his favorite chair. There used to be two chairs there, one for his wife and one for him, but his wife had passed away years ago. Perhaps, if she had still been around, their son wouldn't have fallen to the depths of depravity. Or she would have gently told him to let their son face the consequences of his actions. He knew she would never condone the murder of an innocent woman and boy.

"How did I get so far from the man you once loved, Maria?" He put his face in his hands and cried for the first time since his son was arrested. "How..."

**oOoOoOoOo**


	16. Chapter 16

1

**Chapter Sixteen**

"Captured!"

Paul threw a file on his desk as he entered his office with Strenlich on his heels. "Goddammit! We've got to find the leak and we've got to find it fast!"

Strenlich rubbed his hand over the back of his crewcut and shook his head. "Whoever it is, they are good. We've lost three key witnesses for the prosecution in the last year alone."

"Yeah, but where are they hiding? Here, in the department? The DA's office? Or the court system itself? We've got to find who it is and fast before we add more witness deaths to the list."

Strenlich smiled. "How about disseminating some false information and see where that takes us?"

Blaisdell returned the smile. "How about doing that? I like it. Get on it. Meanwhile, I've got some checking to do on my own."

"Right away, Captain."

Paul sat at his desk and fiddled with a pen for a moment before he called a number that wasn't written down anywhere in Paul's files or personal possessions.

"This is Falcon," he said softly.

"Well, Falcon, it has been a while."

"I need some help in flushing out a mole. Are you game?"

"You know me, I always enjoy a rousing game to keep my hand in things. I can be there in...six hours."

"Good. We'll meet at the usual location."

**oOoOoOoOo**

"Hey, Kermit, Tommy and I are going for a walk before lunch. We'll be back in about a half hour or so."

"Stay close," Ansel warned.

When Peter looked at Celeste, he saw Ansel's warning echoing in her eyes.

"Will do. Better hurry, sport, we don't have much time," Peter said, tousling Tommy's thick hair.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Frank and his men were lying in wait when Conrad, the mechanic from the police depot, showed up in regular street clothes. He sat down on a street bench and began to read a newspaper.

Soon, one of Frank's connections from another precinct sat down beside Conrad, also with a newspaper. Conrad glanced over at the man suspiciously. "You aren't the regular guy."

"No, I'm an exceptional guy," the cocky undercover cop replied.

"Well, tell me what you've got to say and be done with it. I've got to get back to work in twenty minutes."

"You ready for your next assignment," the cop asked quietly, his eyes on the newspaper.

"I wouldn't be here if I wasn't!" Conrad's temper was beginning to show.

"I heard you did a good job on the last gig, that asshole detective's car."

"Yeah, what of it? Either give me the assignment and proof of deposit into my account, or leave me alone!"

The cop smiled sweetly. "Okay, Conrad, your next gig is a stint in jail. Is that easy enough for you to understand?"

Frank and the others broke from their hiding places and descended upon Conrad and the cop, who had a good lock on Conrad's arm behind his back.

"I want my lawyer! I want him now!"

Frank smiled with satisfaction. "Take him to where he can speak with his lawyer. After he is booked on conspiracy charges, of course. Start off with that and more will be added later. But keep him under wraps for as long as possible."

Strenlich pulled out his cell phone and called the Captain to give him the good news.

**oOoOoOoOo**

"Come on, men, we've got a location!" the leader of the three teams of assassins called out. His men were pros, going immediately into packing up for their destination.

"Will we need anything special for this trip?"

"For two cripples, a boy, a wounded cop and a computer geek cop? Nah, we could practically do it in our sleep."

Within minutes, the three new Black Explorers were on the road, heading for the Misty Mountains.

**oOoOoOoOo**

They were away from the house when Peter noticed that Tommy had something hidden under his jacket. Peter stopped and gave Tommy a suspicious eye. Tommy smiled and pulled out his book, "The Spirits of the Forest".

"Now, Tommy, I thought you wanted to look for some pieces of wood to carve with. We don't have much time left before Christmas if we are to finish."

Tommy frowned and shook his head. He went over to a flat rock and sat on it, opening the book. Peter sighed and followed him over to the rock, muttering, "Oh yeah, I really wanted a frozen butt today. Thanks a lot, Tommy."

Tommy only beamed at him, but then his gaze was lost in the towering trees. He stared intently and cocked his head occasionally as if hearing something Peter couldn't hear. The boy's eyes glazed over as the strange mists began to approach them.

Peter touched Tommy's shoulder. "Hey, Tommy, you okay?"

Tommy was concentrating so intently that he jumped with Peter's touch.

"Whoa, Tommy, I'm sorry I startled you. What were you looking at?"

Tommy's expression was dark. First, he pointed to the tree tops, then the sky, then to the growing mists, and finally he opened his book to a description of the spirits of the forest.

"You heard or saw the spirits?" Peter asked.

Tommy nodded and then frowned in frustration. He knelt down in the snow and wrote the word, 'more'.

"More what?"

Tommy sighed as he closed his eyes. Once he opened them, he wrote, "More trobble."

Peter touched Tommy's back. "More trouble? Is that what you mean?"

Tommy's head bobbed up and down, and then he gestured with both hands like he was shooting guns.

"Ah, shit," Peter said, never doubting Tommy's instincts for a second.

He pulled out his walkie-talkie and tried to raise Kermit, but all he got was static.

"Damn," he whispered.

He pulled out his Beretta and checked his ammo, then he reached down to his ankle gun and checked the ammo there, grunting when his side protested.

"Tommy, we have to be very careful. We have to make our way back to the cabin and warn the others."

Tommy's eyes filled with tears just as some distant explosions went off. It was the booby-traps. Someone was trying to sneak up on the cabin. Peter bit his lip. Maybe he should hide Tommy in one of the shelters and then head to the house to help Kermit and the others.

Another series of explosions went off in a different direction followed by gunfire. In the distance, Peter heard Celeste screaming for Tommy. That made Peter's decision easier. If there was enough danger for Celeste to be screaming for Tommy, then things there were really bad.

Peter glanced around, looking for the nearest shelter, and found one. "Come on, Tommy, it's time to play hide and seek."

Tommy didn't move right away, only stared up at Peter with those huge luminous eyes of silver. He reached out and put a hand to Peter's heart. Peter knelt down beside him. "Look, I know it's scary, but I've got to help the others and I can't do that if I'm worried about you. Do you understand?"

Tears filled Tommy's eyes as he nodded reluctantly and followed Peter to the dugout, clutching the book in his hands. Peter helped to get him settled, and took out the guns stored there. He turned on a flashlight for Tommy. "You just read until I get back, okay? And don't come looking for me for any reason. No matter what you hear? Promise me."

Tommy nodded again and brushed his hand across Peter's cheek.

"I'll be back as soon as I can, Tommy. I swear it."

It killed Peter to close the hatch on the lonely little boy, but it was the safest way. Peter's head popped up when he heard more explosions peppered with heavy gunfire.

"Shit, why can't it ever be easy?" he muttered as he held his side and got to his feet, running off to unknown dangers. Unknown because the mist was so dense, Peter could hardly see his hand in front of his face. Unknown because with so many booby-traps going off, the team attacking them had to be huge. And unknown, because he didn't know for sure if Kermit and the others were even still alive.

Peter paused, suddenly unsure of his way. Hell, he could set off a booby-trap himself if he wasn't careful. There was another noise in the distance, almost like drums softly beating to an ancient rhythm. He shook his head. He was letting Tommy's book affect his thinking.

Closing his eyes, he tried to visualize the cabin. He tensed as he saw Kermit push Celeste from the front door of the cabin and take a bullet to his left leg. Ansel was using the biggest shotgun Peter had ever seen. Even Celeste was using a rifle.

The attacking force wasn't close enough to be a real threat...yet. But if they weren't stopped, they would be. Peter decided to sneak around behind the hit men and catch them in a cross fire.

Stepping as delicately as he could, he fell back deeper into the forest, noticing the mists weren't as dense there, but the snow was beginning to fall in earnest now. Peter could still see where he was going at least and came up behind two men.

If he fired now, the assassins would know there was trouble behind them, so he filled his pockets with his guns and snuck up on one man's position. He tried to think how his father would attack this man, but then he decided to do it his way. Tapping the fellow on the shoulder, he did a roundhouse punch to the man's jaw as the assailant spun around.

The next man started to react and Peter pulled his knife from his boot and hurled it into the chest of the next man. Tossing their guns away from them, he knelt by both and checked for life signs. One man was dead, and the other unconscious, so he tied up the unconscious man with his own belt and proceeded ahead.

He heard a walkie-talkie and pulled it from the dead man's jacket. "Hmm, this might prove useful since mine isn't working."

Strangely enough, Peter came across two men already dead, but without a mark on them. He spun around and only saw the mists spreading out toward the cabin. He licked his lips in disbelief.

_'What the hell?'_ he wondered, but he didn't have time to think about it long.

After a moment, he couldn't see the cabin at all, but he heard the engine of Ansel's ancient truck rev up, and then it was moving like a locomotive._ 'Good, Kermit, go, get Celeste and Ansel out of here while you can. I'll watch over Tommy. Maybe when it's dark, we can make our way down to the canoes and escape.'_

The snow was falling heavily, encouraging Peter that the tracks to Tommy's hideout would be hidden before he got there, just in case someone was following their tracks left in the snow.

Peter started moving back toward Tommy's location, but before he could reach his destination, something hard hit him on the back of the head. Peter went down like a dropped sack of potatoes. He tried to get up, but he was kicked him in the ribs and that was all it took to knock him out.

**oOoOoOoOo**


	17. Chapter 17

1

**Chapter Seventeen**

"In the Line of Fire"

"Kermit!" Celeste shouted as Kermit went down at the front door, pushing her away, and taking a bullet meant for her. He didn't pause as he fired back. He tried to crawl out of the line of fire, but failed.

Celeste reloaded her rifle and shouted to Ansel, "Grab him, I'll cover you."

Ansel took Kermit by the shoulders and pulled him to safety. More booby-traps began exploding like the staccato reports of a sniper's rifle. "Jumping Jahosefat, how many men do they have?"

Kermit pressed a hand around his thigh wound that was flowing freely with blood and grunted. "A lot less than they started off with."

He knew that each explosion meant another man of the attacking force had been neutralized. Still, they weren't armed for an all-out attack.

"Ansel, take over for me while I check his leg," Celeste said as she stared at Kermit with tears in her eyes.

Kermit waved her off. Instead, he used his handkerchief and some twine that was sitting on a nearby bookshelf. "I've got it. Look out the east window carefully and see if you see any sign of Peter and Tommy."

"Oh my God, Tommy!" Celeste rushed to the window Kermit had mentioned screaming Tommy's name.

Ansel pulled her back. "Get down, girl! Get down before you get yourself shot, too!"

Celeste struggled against his hold, but Ansel was looking at something new outside that window. He went to the front door and carefully surveyed the area around them. "The mists are coming in again. This may be our only chance to get away and get some help. Let's face it. There's just too many of them for us to fight off."

Kermit's fist slammed against the wooden floor.

Celeste looked at Ansel in shock. "No, no! Please, God, no! I'm not leaving without Tommy! I'm not!"

Ansel went back at her side. As he turned to her, he slugged hard on the jaw. She crumpled into his arms.

"It was the only way," Ansel said, adjusting Celeste's dead weight in his arms, guilt echoing in his voice.

Kermit nodded, struggling to get to his feet. He made it with difficulty, but without additional assistance. By the time he was standing, Ansel was ready to go.

"My truck is parked in the garage. We'll just sail through the door and haul ass down the mountain."

"Easy for you to say. We have no idea how many are waiting for us by the road."

"Well, it's what we are gonna do. I feel it in my gut. The Spirits are giving us the mists to get away, and bring back the cavalry."

"Then let's do it. Peter and Tommy can't last out there for long in this snow storm and with bad guys on their tails."

Ansel loaded Celeste into the truck. "Give 'em more credit than that. They know where the shelters are and where the canoes are. They'll be okay until we can get reinforcements up here."

Kermit gingerly moved up onto the trunk's front seat, moving beside the slumped Celeste. "I hope you're right. And you better be ready for all hell to break loose when this lady wakes up."

Ansel was in the driver's seat by then. The old conger adjusted his cowboy hat nervously. "Little Raven will take my scalp for this one. No doubt about it," he said with a sigh.

He looked once more to Kermit and a spark came into his eyes. "Okay, get your guns out because we are ready to roll!"

Ansel turned the engine on and stomped on the gas pedal. The truck literally flew through the aged garage door, barreling out beside the house, bouncing along as Kermit fired as fast as he could, but he couldn't see a thing through the damned mists.

"Ansel Crowfoot, I sure hope you know this road with your eyes closed," Kermit said grimly.

"Yep, and like the back of my hand too."

They made it down the twisting mountain road without too much trouble until they reached the turnoff.

"We've got company," Kermit said as they approached two Explorers blocking the road leading to Ansel's cabin.

Ansel surprised him by stomping on the gas pedal, instead of slowing down.

"Hold on," the old man shouted followed by a hoot.

"Ah, shit," Kermit muttered, wrapping his body around Celeste to protect her as the truck plowed through the two vehicles. Then, Ansel reached under his seat and pulled out a detonator.

"Fire in the hole," he yelled and Kermit pushed Celeste down further, not knowing exactly what Ansel was up to.

There was a huge explosion that rocked the truck even more than the collision with the two Explorers did. Kermit glanced back and all he could see was smoke, flying debris, and pieces of the two Explorers falling to the ground in a burning heap.

"Oh yeah, we're in it now," Kermit muttered as Ansel crowed over his destructive feat, pounding the steering wheel with excitement.

When it seemed safe, Kermit pulled Celeste back up on to the truck seat. She was still unconscious with a dark bruise forming on her jaw. Kermit cursed under his breath as he remembered most of his equipment was left at the cabin. All he had on him was his cell phone and a few guns. But there was the secondary system he'd set up with Ansel.

"Head for the satellite relay we buried the other day," Kermit said as he leaned Celeste over toward Ansel and pulled off his jacket. He removed his shirt, tearing the flannel material into a temporary bandage.

"There still might be more baddies between here and there," Ansel warned once he'd settled down a bit.

That was when Kermit let him see the fire in his own eyes as he finished tying the bandage. "Let them come. They've got me pissed off now and that's not a very wise thing to do."

Ansel hooted again with excited anticipation. "Wahoooo! Those fellows ain't got nothing over the team of Crowfoot and Griffin!"

Kermit let the moment pass without comment. He zipped up his jacket, and then checked each of the weapons he had with him, counting the number of extra clips. He glanced to Ansel. "What are you carrying on the truck?"

Ansel smiled broadly, "Enough to take on the whole mountainside."

Kermit sighed with relief and even chuckled at Ansel's enthusiasm. If they could only locate Peter and Tommy, then he could really relax. The only problem was he had no idea in hell where they were, or if they were even still alive. He sighed again, but this time it was from a heavy burden.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Peter heard the voices talking over him as he lay on his stomach on the living room floor of Ansel's cabin. No doubt that was where they tossed him after tying his hands with rope. Barely opening his eyes, Peter intended to count the number of men around him, but getting hit on the head again had caused a return of the symptoms from his concussion. So, for a while, all he tried to do was not get sick. It was still daylight, but he had no idea how long he'd been out...or how long Tommy had been left in the shelter.

'_Pop, I could really use some help now. Not for me, but for Tommy. He's a kid who doesn't need to ever see another gun aimed at him again. Please, Pop, help me out here.'_

Peter licked his lips and forced his eyes open ever so slightly. This time, he counted four men within his field of vision. There was the squawking of walkie-talkies carried by the four men.

"This is Team One in the cabin. We have one of the cops at the cabin. Status reports."

There was a long pause.

"This is Team One requesting status reports from all teams," the man said more urgently, and with anger.

Static filled the air. Someone upended the coffee table with a single kick. Another person said, "Shit!"

"Stervan, call up our backup teams," said the man in charge.

"Damn, you know it will take them hours to get here."

"I know that, but call them anyway. This situation is not acceptable. All that work for one lousy cop? Where's the woman? Where's the kid?"

The leader pulled Peter up by his shirt and his hair, and dragged him into the dining room, throwing him into a chair so hard Peter thought he was going to pass out again. "Look, cop, I want to know where the others are, and I want to know now."

"I'd like to know that, too. I go for a walk and all hell breaks loose-"

His words were cut off by a backhanded swipe of the man's gun handle, splitting his lip, and making his vision go gray.

The leader took Peter by the hair again. "I am only going to ask once more before I let my boys start working on you. Where are they?"

"I could lie, if that would keep the boys off me." Peter was rewarded by another painful slap to his face.

Peter spit out the blood welling in his mouth. "God's honest truth, I have no idea where they are." His gaze narrowed. "Maybe they're with your missing men."

This time, when Peter was hit, he went out like a light.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Kermit and Ansel limped together, both of them needing a cane, but all the canes were back at the cabin, left in the haste of clearing out quickly.

"I don't know what I was thinking...not to grab the canes. Lucky we don't have to walk far."

"You might have had a few other things on your mind at the time..." Kermit said and grunted as Ansel helped set him down beside the marker they'd left for the satellite relay. "It's just as well, Ansel, I really wasn't looking forward to being one with the 'kill 'em with your cane' brigade."

Ansel snorted as he limped back to the truck and grabbed a shovel from the bed of the truck, using it for support as he walked back.

"You don't look so hot, boy. How's that leg doing?"

"It's still here and Peter and Tommy aren't, so let's get digging, but gently, that equipment is borrowed and if the owners knew I had it, I'd never see daylight again."

"Borrowed, huh?" Ansel chuckled as he started digging around the perimeter of the marker. "You sure you don't have some Lakota blood in you?"

Luckily, the snowstorm hadn't completely buried the marker or they would have been forced to drive back into Clarion. Kermit was scooping away snow and dirt with his gloved hands when Ansel stopped and looked around. "You still have a gun with you?"

"Yes, as in more than one. Why?"

"I've got this itchy feeling trouble's around the corner."

Kermit turned and did a sweep of the area. "I don't see anything."

Ansel started to turn the earth with his shovel, but with hesitation. "You do the watch, and I'll do the digging."

Kermit nodded, keeping his head on a swivel when his gaze came across Ansel's truck. "Oh no, this is trouble of the worst kind," he whispered.

"What's that?" Ansel asked just as he made contact with the communications equipment.

"Celeste is out of the truck and going back up the road toward the cabin."

"Dammit to hell!" Ansel cursed.

He handed Kermit the shovel and took off for his truck. "You set up the kit and tell your buddies to get here pronto. I'll go deal with my niece. If I don't come back alive, it's been nice knowing you."

Kermit nodded. He wouldn't want to be in Ansel's boots for all the money in the world. He pulled the bagged satchel from its hole in the ground, and then cut away the heavy duty plastic with a knife.

Within minutes, he was talking to Paul Blaisdell. It wasn't a pleasant conversation.

**oOoOoOoOo**


	18. Chapter 18

1

**Chapter Eighteen**

"Trapped"

As Peter sat in the chair in the dining room, he began to work the ropes in the manner his father had taught him. _'Stretch. Release. Stretch. Release.'_ Now, if only someone didn't walk behind him to see the blood dripping from his wrists, he was home free.

The foursome came back inside and the leader gestured to one of his men. "Go for it. He's awake again. Might as well work off some frustration."

Peter looked at the man approaching him, and said, "You wanna talk about frustration? I've had to use the john for the last hour!"

The man smiled coldly as he made a fist and began to pound Peter's face with several quick, but stinging punches.

Somehow, Peter remained alert, though he knew his face was a mess. "So, what's next, guys? When are we ordering lunch? I hear the Chinese take out nearby is very goo-"

Another punch to his wounded side shut him up.

The leader shook his head. "This guy isn't going to give up the info. We might as well kill him and be done with it."

"Oh, that's real smart. Kill me and you've got jackshit!" Peter taunted as he gasped for air.

The man in the suede jacket with the coffee stains pushed forward.

"It would be worth it, cop!" he growled as he punched Peter in the solar plexus.

Peter swallowed, not giving his killer the satisfaction of watching him struggle for air. He lifted his strained gaze to stare into the eyes of the man with a gun pointed at his forehead.

_'Sorry, Paul, looks like I let you down, but the person I let down the most is Tommy. God, please watch over that boy until Kermit can come back for him.'_

All of a sudden, the man turned to the front door, and stepped away from Peter. The young detective tried to sneak in a breath of air, but it caught in his chest. Peter's worst nightmare was made real by the sight before him: Tommy with a gun to his head being brought in the front door.

"Maybe if you won't talk, he will," the man turned toward Tommy. "Won't ya, kid? You don't want to see this man hurt any more, do you?"

Tommy shook his head in response.

The man in charge smiled broadly as he knelt beside Tommy. "So, where is everyone?"

Tommy looked at the man in curiosity and then shrugged.

"Look, the boy can't talk because of what your employer's son did to his parents. He saw them shot to death and hasn't said a word since then. Besides, he really doesn't know where they are."

Peter had to make them to understand Tommy's situation, but cringed as he watched Tommy's expression become distant at the mere mention of the incident. So much progress reversed in a single moment.

"Well, if he can't talk, he's no good to us. Kill him, Jerry," the team leader said, as if he were telling one of his men to throw out the trash. "Kill them both."

"Wait! God, wait!" Peter screamed hoarsely.

The leader turned back to Peter with a gun still pointed to Tommy's head. "Ah, so do you remember something of use, cop?"

When Peter hesitated, one man abruptly raised a clenched fist preparing to strike Tommy, catching everyone off guard.

Peter went berserk, finally breaking free of his bonds. He attacked the man standing in front of him who was prepared to hit Tommy, knocking him out with a single blow. There were two men standing on either side of Peter. When he knocked out the first man, the other two went for their guns.

Peter finally pulled loose the last of his ropes hanging onto one wrist. Snaking out bloody hands, he grabbed the wrist of the man on his right and swung him into the man on his left with all his might.

The falling man got a handful of Peter's clothes, pulling him down with them, landing between the two of them as both guns went off together on either side of Peter's head. Peter screamed out in agony and then slumped to the ground, unconscious.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Peter awoke up to find Tommy watching over him. Once Peter adjusted to his pain and weakness, he realized the room was deathly quiet. Too quiet. His breath caught in his chest as realization hit him. He was deaf. At least for the moment. As further proof, Tommy was moving around him and he couldn't hear any of the boy's movements.

Peter raised his head and tried to speak, but he couldn't even hear the sound of his own voice, not even his own breathing. He panicked, moving to sit up but was forced back down by a nauseating wave of vertigo and the pain.

As he tried to make sense of his sudden deafness, Tommy reacted to Peter's panic and leaned down to give Peter a long, comforting hug, having recently known such emotions in his own heart.

Stoically, Peter wrapped his arms around the boy. A few moments later, he dropped back into oblivion.

The sun had set and night was coming on when Peter regained consciousness again. Tommy was still by his side, not moving until he felt Peter move. Peter's memories had returned, but something had Peter bewildered. Where were the hired goons? They wouldn't have just taken off and left Tommy and himself alive as potential witnesses against them.

Then he saw the bodies of the dead hit men scattered around the room, leading all the way into the living room and out the open front door. The place looked like a cyclone had hit it while he was out. Nothing made any sense to him, especially with his head pounding like the fabled John Henry was inside of it, using his mighty sledgehammer with a maddening rhythm.

Closing his eyes to concentrate, Peter whispered Tommy's name. The boy was busily wiping the blood from Peter's face, wrists, and ears. Next, Tommy's hand went to Peter's heart.

"Where-where are the bad guys?" Peter tried to say, but he had no idea if Tommy could make out his slurred words. The effort forced him to close his eyes to stop the swirling room.

The small hand went to Peter's cheek, and he opened his eyes. Tommy's silver gray eyes were reflecting the rising moon. He held something up in front of Peter's face. It was the book on the Spirit of the Forest.

Peter felt his expression contort with confusion. "Tommy, you mean it was...that Forest spirit who did...this?"

Tommy nodded emphatically. Peter closed his eyes again. In addition to losing his hearing, Peter decided he must have lost his mind, too. Or Tommy had.

"More bad guys...are coming. We have to...go," he said in raspy spurts and as clearly as he could.

Tommy nodded and pulled a chair beside the deaf detective, sliding it to one side of Peter, and then he came around to Peter's other side, pulling Peter's arm over the eight year-old's minute shoulder.

"Okay, sport," Peter whispered, trying to sound strong but he felt anything but that.

Peter was pretty certain he'd pass out before they took two steps, but Tommy was ready for that. He had Ansel's cane for Peter to use on one side and his own little body for support on the other.

"We need guns. Go to...a shelter. Flashlight?"

Tommy nodded, pulling it out of the back of his pants, along with his Wolf token he'd made earlier in the day. He slid everything back into place and picked up the book, putting it into one of his jacket's deep pockets.

"Okay, let's go."

Peter's dizziness was fearsome and he felt like he was about to collapse at any moment, but how he felt didn't matter. He had to get that little boy to safety, even if it was the last thing he did. As they exited the cabin, Peter looked around for any sign of trouble, but there was nothing in the forest was moving, not even the wind in the trees.

And, of course, there was maddening silence resonating in his head. He put a hand to one ear and snapped his fingers, but didn't hear a thing. Peter swallowed back his fear. First, he had to get Tommy to safety, then he would deal with the deafness.

"Keep the flashlight...low to ground," Peter warned, worried the beam might attract attention. Tommy obeyed right away.

They had only gone a short distance before Peter's knees started buckling. "We-we need...shelter. Fast," he said in gasping whispers.

Tommy did a quick survey and pointed ahead. Somehow, they made it there before Peter collapsed completely, tumbling into the shelter with a groan while Tommy held the hatch open. Breathing heavily, Peter scooted himself against the far edge of the shelter, making room for Tommy to climb in. It took all of the boy's strength to close the heavy door and latch it, but he managed it.

He sat beside Peter and took out a cloth and some bottled water, dabbing again at the fresh blood of Peter's numerous injuries. The boy concentrated his efforts on Peter's ears, as if that would return his sense of hearing.

When he stopped, he held the bottle out to Peter to drink. Peter took a sip. He was afraid to take more. He didn't want to get sick inside of their hideout.

"Sit, Tommy," he said carefully, but the effort drained him. "You...did good, but-but now...we sleep. Leave in morning."

Tommy snuggled against him, and then reached into a corner for a down sleeping bag. He carefully covered Peter with it, and then got one for himself before pressing himself close to Peter again. Peter couldn't hear the boy's breathing change to indicate he'd fallen asleep, but he felt the slow, steady respiration with his hand on Tommy's chest.

Only then did he allow himself to give into the emotions that had been suppressed ever since they heard the first booby trap explode. His body trembled with pent-up rage, but then another emotion took over. Namely, the fear that he may have permanently lost his hearing. That would affect his job and relationships. Hell, it would affect his whole life.

Taking a deep breath, he made himself stay in the moment and not project into an unknown future. Right then, his only concern was the precious life beside him. With that perspective in mind, his fears slowly crept back into the shadows of his soul, allowing him some peace. He leaned his head against Tommy's as he prayed for Tommy's safety. Soon, the lingering fears haunting him fell away and he drifted into a troubled sleep.

**oOoOoOoOo**


	19. Chapter 19

1

**Chapter Nineteen**

"The Search"

Paul was on a secure line with his contact, and not liking what he was hearing one bit.

"So, you've got a two-fold problem, Falcon. One, the money transfers to a Swiss account two weeks ago undoubtedly reflects the money paid to the hit men. No measly sum by any standard. And two, there was a transfer to a local account during the same time period that probably belongs to your mole.

"I checked into the identity of the person named on the account, but it was all dummied, quite a professional job actually. I would guess they work in one of your city's governmental agencies, probably someone working in City Hall, and that person has access to confidential files. I narrowed it down that far, but couldn't nab the little blighter. It might be a judge, a clerk, a secretary, or the blooming District Attorney himself."

"Well, I believe I can vouch for the DA, but the rest of the staff is free game for my people to research. Thanks, I owe you."

"Hell, I owe you for my life. I think the balances are still tipped in my direction. I've already taken the liberty of having copies of my research dropped off at your desk within the hour."

"Roger that, Falcon out."

"Falcon, be careful. Whoever is on this guy's payroll has been clever enough to hide in the midst of three witness murders. They might be dangerous themselves."

"Understood."

"Over and out."

Paul set down the phone and called Jody and Skalany. "I want you wake up the city's head of personnel and meet him at his office in thirty minutes!"

"But Captain, it's the Sunday night before Christmas and at midnight at that."

"I don't care how you do it, but I've just had confirmation that there's a mole in City Hall. It's up to you two to find who it is and stop them. There will be a manila envelop sitting on my desk. It won't have a name on it or any mailing stamps. It should be there by the time you get to the precinct. Read that file and follow the trail until you find the mole and throw him or her into a cell until I get back to town. Take the information with you to the meeting, but by no means do you leave it with them. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir."

Paul hung up, realizing he had just asked for the impossible. Then again, finding Peter and Tommy alive after what Kermit had described sounded just as impossible. Paul usually dealt with tangibles, but tonight as they traveled on the busy Interstate with the rest of their rescue team, he was depending upon the impossible.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Apparently, Ansel had managed to catch up with Celeste, because Kermit could see her riding in the front seat of Ansel's truck when they returned. Ansel stopped a short distance from Kermit and got out, but Celeste stayed where she was, looking like she was about to explode with rage.

Kermit had finished his business with Blaisdell and the kit was packed up, ready for travel.

As Ansel limped over to him, Kermit said sympathetically, "I see you still have your scalp."

The old man grunted. "Yeah, but I ain't got no ass any more. She chewed it up one side and down the other. Man, she's fighting this like a momma bear separated from her cub."

"I don't blame her. Where's the nearest place we can go to? And I don't mean Clarion."

Ansel rubbed his face. "Flying Eagle's place is the closest, but he's not home right now. He doesn't like our cold winters, but I know where he keeps the key. Come on, let's get you off that snow and pack up your gear."

Kermit flinched a bit as he started to move. "Not sure I can walk after lying here."

"Hold on, I'll pull up closer."

"Good idea."

As Ansel got into the truck, Kermit could see the firm line of Celeste's mouth. '_Oh yeah, she's pissed all right.'_

A short time later, they were at Flying Eagle's place and Ansel had retrieved the key to the front door, gesturing for the rest of them to enter. Kermit didn't waste any time setting up the satellite relay again. Soon, he had Paul back on the line, describing their

location and how to find it.

"Any word on Peter or the boy?" Paul asked.

"Not yet. You bring in the Marines to keep these hit teams off our ass and we'll find them safe and sound."

"We're on our way, old friend."

"Roger. Next check in will be at 19:00 hours."

"Got it. Over and out."

Kermit packed up the kit and glanced over at Ansel tending to Celeste. She was beside herself with worry, hanging onto Ansel's shoulder as she wept. Ansel handed her another whiskey shot, keeping at it until she refused any more.

The old man handed Kermit the bottle of whiskey and nodded for him to leave them alone. His nonverbal gesture indicated he'd take the first watch, especially with Celeste in the state she was in. So, Kermit limped to the bathroom to see how bad his leg wound was.

Once he'd cut into his pants leg, and wiped away the still flowing blood, Kermit eyed the wound with a knowing look. He shrugged. "I've had worse," he muttered to himself.

Kermit paused for closer examination, holding the lamp closer to the wound. "Not many in the leg, but I've had worse."

He took several sips from the fifth of Flying Eagles' whiskey, bracing himself for what was ahead. Inhaling quickly, he poured the alcohol over the wound, hissing as he pounded on the counter top beside him.

Eventually, the burning pain subsided and he took another long swallow from the bottle before he began to bandage the still aching leg. He tied the bandage in place, but he was acting automatically from years of dressing field bandages. Instead of worrying about his leg wound, all he could think of was Peter and Tommy, and the bigger hole it would leave in his gut if they were found dead.

Now cleaned up, he took the oil burning lamp that was currently the only type of illumination in the house. Ansel said he'd fire up the generator once he had Celeste asleep or at least calmed down.

Kermit headed for one of the bedrooms. He gave a sideways glance down the hallway to see the old man holding Celeste as she sobbed in his arms. Knowing his physical pain was nothing compared to her emotional angst, Kermit turned away and allowed her cry without witnesses.

He collapsed on the bed and didn't move for a long minute when he remembered something he'd read once. "_'No one can see how deep the abyss calling to them in the middle of the night is...if it is inches deep or a mile-long cavern, it remains a mystery until the morning light casts itself out to reveal the true nature of such danger.'"_

He hoped with morning's light, they'd find Peter and Tommy safely hidden away. Nothing would console Celeste until she had Tommy back in her arms. Paul and the troops would be there by morning. The more, the better. He closed his eyes for just a moment and in that moment, he began snoring.

**oOoOoOoOo**

"How long...have you...been awake?" Peter asked as he opened his eyes to see Tommy munching on some of the supplies in the shelter and had the flashlight on as he silently looked through his favorite book.

Tommy shrugged, offering Peter some of what he was eating. Peter shook his head. Food was the last thing he wanted.

"Early riser," Peter muttered with a wink for Tommy after he squinted at his watch and saw the ungodly hour.

His head dropped back to the padded floor of the shelter. The beating he'd taken the previous day had added new pains to the old ones. There was hardly a position he could find that would allow him some comfort.

Plus Peter was trying to ignore the fact that he was so cold he was shaking. Yet, his skin was hot to the touch. He was running a fever again. That was something he didn't need. Something Tommy didn't need, if Peter was to save his life.

Then he realized his hearing wasn't completely gone anymore. Now, instead of dead silence, now there was an incessant ringing in his ears, a high pitched whine that was almost worse than the silence, because its distracting hum distorted anything else he might have heard. Peter shook his head and made it to a sitting position. Enough bemoaning of physical ailments. That wasn't going to save Tommy or himself.

"Time to move," Peter said slowly as he ruffled Tommy's hair. "Gotta get...my lazy butt moving. It won't be fun...for either one of us. How big are...your muscles?"

Tommy held out his arms to the sides in his best bodybuilding pose. Peter suppressed a chuckle as he squeezed the miniature-sized biceps. He was surprised by Tommy's sinewy strength.

"Wow...Maybe you are strong enough...to get me...out of here."

Tommy nodded enthusiastically, holding up Ansel's cane, but then he frowned, touching Peter's forehead. His frown deepened as his hand made contact with Peter's skin. Peter chewed on the inside of his cheek and sighed. There wasn't much he could sneak past this kid. Tommy placed his hand over Peter's heart. Sadness came into Tommy's eyes and Peter reached down, pulling Tommy's hand away.

"Okay, I'm sick...but we've...gotta get away from here."

Tommy shook his head. He placed his own sleeping bag over Peter and handed him a water bottle. Peter sighed again. This kid was headstrong, then again so was he, but he was thirsty, so he drank the water. It did help to soothe his dry throat.

"Any noises...above us?" Peter asked as he wiped the lingering drops of water from his lips.

The boy shook his head.

Peter closed his eyes for a moment. It was a tough choice. To open the hatch to the shelter and expose their presence to a hostile force. Or take a chance that they could make it down to the creek unimpeded.

Peter laid back and curled on his good side as he shivered. Tommy followed his motion and snuggled up to him, lending Peter his own body heat. Peter's trembling carried into his voice. "Look, I'm the one...saving your butt...not the reverse, sport."

He felt the boy chuckle as he pressed against him. The shivers slowly passed and Peter fell into another deep sleep without meaning to.

**oOoOoOoOo**


	20. Chapter 20

1

**Chapter Twenty**

"The Cavalry Arrives"

Paul and his crew arrived just before dawn, looking all the world like the Marines had landed. They were cold, determined, and hungry. Celeste was already up, if she'd ever gone to bed at all. She was in the kitchen cooking, using whatever supplies Flying Eagle had left there, along with a big pot of coffee.

The men appreciated it and went into the dining room for a briefing before the breakfast was ready. Kermit laid out the situation for them in his curt, concise manner.

When he was done, Paul leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. "Well, I've got a helicopter to assist from Search-and-Rescue. They should be here within the hour. That bird is equipped with thermal scanners, so it can pick up their body heat, even if they are in hiding."

Kermit tapped a pencil on the table. "Peter was just getting his strength back. If he ran into any forces..."

Paul stood. "We go on the assumption that both are still alive." And then he sighed, "But we have to be realistic. If the hit teams called in reinforcements, we might well be facing a ground fight, just to get to the cabin. We must be prepared for the worst as far as the opposing forces are concerned. Everyone is to wear flak jackets and helmets. We will speak via the communications systems in the helmets. Strenlich has the search patterns and assignments, once we assume control of Crowfoot's cabin. Enjoy your breakfast, because in a few minutes, we will hit the ground running."

Paul walked into the kitchen to refill his coffee when he found Celeste crying. He wasn't quite sure how to approach this woman who had been through hell and back. "Miss Crowfoot, I'm not sure I introduced myself in all the commotion of our arrival. My name is Captain Paul Blaisdell and-"

Celeste wiped at her face and turned toward him with a brave smile. "And you're Peter's father...or at least one of them. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Paul shook her hand, and then embraced her when she broke down into tears again.

With her face still pressed into his jacket, she said, "We wouldn't even still be alive if it wasn't for your son. Thank you for his bravery. I know if there's any way possible for him to keep Tommy alive, he will do it."

Paul pulled away and he stared at her for a moment. "You're right about that. Peter's a survivor. He's been through much in his life and he always manages to save the day.

Trust in that."

Celeste wiped at her face, and then picked up a fork, turning the ham steaks cooking in a huge cast iron skillet. "I am," she paused for a moment, looking back at him, "Do you believe in dreams?"

Paul leaned against the counter and folded his arms in front of him. "I've come to believe in many things when it comes to Peter. Why do you ask?"

Celeste wiped her hands on a towel. "I didn't sleep much last night, but what little I did, I kept dreaming of the forest and its protective care over Peter and Tommy, but there is also danger there. A danger apart from the men who came to kill us. Find that danger and you'll find Peter and my boy. That is what the dream told me."

Paul eyed her for a moment before he said, "I believe you. I'll advise my men to be on the watch for someone beyond the hit men."

Celeste embraced him one more time and then pulled away. "I think you came in here for coffee. Here you go. Breakfast will be ready in about fifteen minutes."

"That should work perfectly with our schedule."

Paul walked out, passing Ansel on his way in. "Did you tell him, Little Raven? Did you tell him of your vision?"

"It was a dream, Uncle, not a vision."

"Whatever! Did you tell him?"

She nodded once and shoved a coffee pot in his hands. "Make yourself useful and see if any cups need filling."

Ansel didn't push her further as he walked out of the small kitchen. She was already on the edge. If they found Tommy or Peter dead, it would be enough to push her over. He was still staring back at the kitchen when calls for more coffee multiplied.

Crowfoot turned toward them, and gruffly said, "Keep your pantyhose on, girls. It's a coming."

**oOoOoOoOo**

Peter was fending off an attacking wolverine, barely keeping the animal's fangs from piercing his skin. It was a life-and-death battle with one of nature's most fearsome fighters, and Peter had a feeling the wolverine was going to win. A small hand jiggled his arm, irritating Peter because he had to subdue this wolf or die.

The small hand shook him stronger, and finally Peter opened his eyes and saw his hands in the air, his illusionary wolverine now vanished. Peter was breathing hard from the exertion and his face was misted with sweat. Looking over, he saw Tommy staring at him with great concern.

Peter sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Sorry...about that, sport. Blasted nightmares...Man, this one was...a doozy."

His mouth was dry again and Tommy automatically handed him the bottle of water. The water helped his dry throat, but did nothing to cease the pounding of his head and his side. The newer injuries were more cuts and bruises than serious injury, annoyances he could ignore. The other more serious injuries he'd just have to deal with.

"Tommy, can you open...that hatch by yourself? Remember, the snow...might make it too heavy."

Tommy put a thumbs up, indicating he'd try it.

"Good kid...do us proud. Open it slowly," he said as he slumped back for a moment, wondering if opening the shelter hatch would draw unwanted attention.

Tommy nodded solemnly. He stood and released the latch, and then pressed his head and back into pushing it open, but he wasn't strong enough. With great effort, Peter got to his knees and pushed with all he had which wasn't much, but between the two of them, they got it open.

As they looked around, they saw it had snowed heavily during the night. Now, in the predawn light, Peter pulled his gun and did a sweeping arc of the area. "Looks like we are alone."

He holstered the weapon and reached into the weapons locker, pulling out another gun and two clips of ammo before he helped Tommy climb out. Peter handed him his knapsack before he tried to crawl out himself. It took every muscle he had and some that he didn't know he had to get clear of the shelter. Then he closed the hatch, marking it with one of the carved tokens Tommy and Peter had been making as Christmas gifts.

When Tommy looked puzzled, Peter explained. "It's for...the good guys, so they know...where to come...looking for us."

Tommy nodded in understanding, and then pointed down to the creek.

"Yep, that's the next step Uncle Ansel said to do, right?"

The boy smiled with pride as he nodded.

"So let's do it."

They managed to get going, heading down towards the creek and the canoe, and hopefully, safety, but the snow was too deep in places. Tommy was visibly trembling from the cold when Peter picked him up in his arms.

They hadn't seen a thing move in the forest since they emerged from the shelter twenty minutes earlier. It was eerie. As if the forest had suddenly become a giant tomb and any living thing had long ago departed for safer parts. No sign of man nor animal. Nothing.

Tommy looked up at him, snuggling closer to him. For some reason, the close bond between the two of them made Peter think of another bond. The one he shared with his father. He thought of him, wherever he was, and how much he missed him, wondering about the secret mission he was involved for the Dali Lama.

_'Hell, Pop might make it home before me.'_

Tommy shifted in his arms, and Peter suppressed a groan as the boy inadvertently pressed upon his injured side. A slow release of air went unnoticed by the boy as he was nearly asleep.

_'Maybe,'_ Peter thought, _'Maybe, I shouldn't give my father such grief over doing what he feels he is obligated to do, just as I'm risking my life to save Tommy's. There just isn't any other option available. Tommy is going to live, even if I don't make it. It's the right thing to do.' _

Peter decided he needed to respect his father's decisions more. After all, his father was an admirable man. He just needed to trust more in his father's judgment.

Peter had to adjust Tommy's weight in his arms. He could see the canoes, but they seemed miles away instead for a few hundred yards. He called to his father without conscious effort. _'Pop, can you hear me? Can you help me? I've got this little boy to save and I don't think I can take another step..._

Tommy reached up from his drowsy state and hugged Peter, brushing the snow flakes from Peter's face. And then he put his head against Peter's heart and started to drift back to sleep. _'Not a bad idea,'_ Peter thought, _'I could do with a nap myself.' _

Looking ahead, he saw those damned canoes looming closer, but his energy was waning so quickly. Still, he continued to trudge ahead. He didn't have anything better to do at the moment, beside acknowledging the ache in his heart with his father's absence. And he owed Lo Si a major apology. That was, if they actually survived the day.

**oOoOoOoOo**


	21. Chapter 21

1

**Chapter Twenty-one**

"The Noose Tightens"

"Captain, we've got word of a trio of parked SUVs near the entrance to Ansel's cabin, along with a lot of rubble and debris on the road," Strenlich said grimly. "Apparently, the road leading to the cabin was destroyed."

Kermit grunted. "Ansel pulled that trick from under his driver's seat, detonating buried explosives while we were still close enough to rock that two ton truck of his."

Kermit heard Ansel hooting in the background as he sat with Celeste, remembering the thrill of his defensive devices. For some reason, the old man reminded Kermit of the late Walter Brennan with his antics and laughter.

"Time to move out, folks," Blaisdell ordered grimly.

Kermit looked at his old friend, knowing he'd been working ever since Peter missed his first check-in and hadn't stopped yet. Kermit started to get up to follow the others and Paul gave him a stern glance.

"Don't even try to tell me I'm not going," Kermit growled.

Celeste chimed in. "The same goes for me."

Ansel nodded in agreement.

"Okay, this is what's going to happen. Kermit, I don't like the idea of you moving around with that leg of yours, but you know where we are heading, so you'll ride with me. Once, we round up the newly arrived assassins, along with any stragglers that might still be on the premises, then...and only then, will you two civilians be allowed to go as far as the cabin. We will set up our home base from there, but that's it. From there, we find Peter and Tommy while you stay put."

Kermit could tell none of them really liked the idea, but at least being at the command center, they would know immediately if Tommy and Peter had been found, so they nodded in reluctant agreement.

**oOoOoOoOo**

As they were driving in the lead of a caravan of off-road vehicles, Paul and Kermit spoke in greater detail. "You sure about this Ansel Crowfoot and his directions? This

doesn't seem to lead anywhere close to the cabin," Paul said with doubt in his voice.

"I'd stake my life on it. He may be aged and cantankerous, but he's a sharp old coot."

"If you say so."

"I do," Kermit said with a smirk.

"How's the leg doing?" Paul asked as he glanced over to Kermit's injury.

Kermit pulled his backpack of supplies over to cover the injured limb. "Forget about the leg. It'll be fine until we find the others."

"Okay," Paul said softly.

Kermit turned to him, radiating irritation. "What does that mean?"

"When you talk like that, I know that it's giving you hell, but you're too headstrong to take care of yourself first."

"Listen, all we need to focus on is finding Peter and Tommy before Clark's goons do!"

It was quiet in the interior of the vehicle for a few minutes until Kermit calmed down. Clearing his voice, Kermit asked, "Did you find the source of the leak on this case?"

"Yes, the primary source and three accomplices."

"The phone call from Skalany right before we left?"

Paul smiled and nodded.

"Well?" Kermit asked.

"The mole was in the DA's office, a secretary with access to confidential files."

"I assume you've got her locked up."

"Oh yeah," Paul said with a smile. "Along with the garage mechanic who sabotaged Peter's car radio and put in a jamming device so no phone signals would go out, along with a few other minor players that the mechanic gave up."

"The mole was caught in the act of trying to contact the hit team and gave up her contact with the team in return for a deal. She said she was trying to contact them because the money man wanted to stop the hit, but she couldn't raise anyone."

"Stop the hit? Hell, that doesn't make any sense after everything they've done to try to kill them."

"It's what she said."

"Do you have confirmation of who hired her?" Kermit asked, his anger rising. "I mean, we know who it is, but did she give him up?"

Paul's fingers tapped on the steering wheel. "Not yet, but she will. I've got Clark under surveillance, so if he tries to bolt, we'll nab him."

"And his asshole son?"

Paul chuckled. "Yes, and his asshole son."

"Don't worry about it. I've got Skalany and Powell tightening the noose around his neck. It's only a matter of time now."

Kermit took a deep breath and turned his full attention to Paul. "Pray tell, how did you come across such specific information so quickly?"

Paul gave him a distant smile.

Kermit cursed. "You called him, didn't you? Dammit, you know how that pisses me off. The man is not to be trusted."

"He came through this time, didn't he?"

Kermit shifted, as if he were brushing away cockroaches. "Yeah, maybe, but I'd be watching your back from here on out. You never make a deal with the devil without him wanting to exact his pound of flesh later on."

"We'll deal with later on...later on."

The rest of the ride was silent. Paul knew Kermit was fuming about the man he'd contacted for information. And Paul just worried over Peter and Tommy and finding them in time.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Peter and Tommy did pretty well getting into the canoe, and Peter used the oars to navigate downstream. They weren't on the water twenty minutes when they hit some rough white water. Peter did his best to keep the canoe from swamping until they hit a large rock in the creek. Before he could maneuver around it, the canoe went over.

Peter trudged out of the frigid water and dropped onto the sandy shore. His whole body was shaking as he turned around, looking for Tommy. A quick gasp of relief came when he spotted him about ten feet away. He saw the boy was moving, undoubtedly chilled to the bone like Peter was.

"Tommy, are you okay?" he called out. He didn't have the strength yet to go to his side.

Tommy looked in Peter's direction and nodded, and then his eyes widened with worry. Peter spun around and found a man in filthy smelling rags walking up to them.

Peter reached out with one hand. "Mister, we need some help. Please, can you help us?"

The man smiled, but it wasn't a pleasant smile because most of his teeth gone.

"Sure, I can help. I'll be right back..."

Peter watched the man scurry away. He was huge and his hair was matted as if it hadn't been brushed in decades. Between the rags, the man was hairy all over, like he was part Neanderthal.

Something inside of Peter told him to get away from this man. He looked around and spotted the canoe and its oars just beyond Tommy. Though it had capsized, the hull looked to be intact.

Peter forced himself to his feet, groaning and swaying as he stood, wiping away the water dripping into his eyes from his hair. As Peter moved toward Tommy, he found Ansel's cane, along with their knapsack of supplies scattered along the edge of the creek, picking them up as he went.

First, he checked on Tommy, helping the boy get to his feet.

"Tommy, are you sure you're okay?" he asked, peering deep into Tommy's eyes.

The boy nodded, but shivered from the cold.

"I know it's miserable to be cold and wet, but we need to get to safety and fast before that guy returns."

Tommy nodded, and helped Peter right the canoe. They loaded their meager belongings and Peter hefted Tommy into the canoe. Peter was pushing the boat back into the water when he was attacked from the rear. With a final act of self-sacrifice, he pushed the canoe hard, sending Tommy away to safety as he turned to battle with Big Foot.

The man wasn't really Big Foot, but that was the image in Peter's mind. The guy was big...and strong. Peter was weak and injured. He managed to get in a few punches before Big Foot got an arm around his neck and held a knife to it.

Peter put up his hands in defeat. The man lowered the knife and Peter elbowed him in the solar plexus with all he could muster. The man dropped to the ground and Peter began running. He could still see Tommy floating in the canoe down the creek. If he ran fast enough, he might be able to catch him. They were supposed to stay together, no matter what, according to the shaman, Whitehorse.

Peter was nearly to Tommy, and at the end of his strength, when he was tackled from behind. As he hit the ground with Big Foot holding onto his feet, he saw Tommy jumping over the edge of the canoe with the knapsack and Ansel's cane.

"No, Tommy, don't!" he rasped.

He felt movement behind him and turned in time to see a large rock being swung against his temple. There was a blinding flash of pain and then his world went black.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Paul and Kermit stepped over the wreckage left inside Ansel's cabin. It looked like Clark's men had torn the place apart trying to find their targets. There were several dead bodies scattered on the porch and in the living room. Kermit stood in the center of it all in disbelief. Disbelief that quickly became rage.

Paul called to him from the dining room. Kermit entered the area and his eyes took in many details with a single glance. Someone had been tied up in a chair. The bloodied remnants of a rope made Kermit's hands ball into fists.

There was a good amount of blood on the ground beside the chair. The crimson stains told Kermit that they'd worked Peter over pretty good. A glance to Paul confirmed he was thinking the same thing.

There were two more bodies lying side by side, without a visible mark on them, but they were just as dead as the others they'd found.Blaisdell's walkie-talkie squawked before either man could speak.

"Captain, we've got about a dozen men here still alive. They just turned themselves in without a fight. Said somebody or something has been picking them off one by one. What do you want me to do with them?"

"Bring them up to the cabin for questioning."

Kermit tapped Paul on the shoulder. "There's a cellar where we could lock them up until a paddy wagon arrives."

"Good idea. Yes, Frank, bring them to the cabin."

He paused, asking the question he knew Frank would have told him right away if he had an answer. "Any sign of our missing?"

"No, sir. Not yet."

Paul closed his eyes for a moment. "Bring the captured up here and then spread out in the search grid you've laid out."

"ETA ten minutes."

Paul pocketed the walkie-talkie and turned to Kermit. "Once we debrief the men and they are locked away, you can let Celeste and Ansel know they are clear to come."

Kermit nodded and walked outside. He needed a breath of fresh air. There was too much death in that house. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine where Peter and Tommy would hide out. In one of the shelters? Or make straight for one of the canoes? What would they do?

Looking upward at the trees surrounding them, Kermit whispered, "We could use some help here. Just a sign to point us in the right direction..."

Paul came out to the porch. "Did you say something?"

"No, just yawning," he lied as he stretched out his arms, knowing Paul knew he'd lied, but he didn't care as long as the powers that be heard and honored his request.

**oOoOoOoOo**


	22. Chapter 22

1

**Chapter Twenty-two**

"A Hollow Christmas Eve"

A heavy blizzard curtailed Strenlich's search for a few hours, making the restless Kermit even more frustrated.

"Any word on how those assassins died yet?" Kermit asked, leaning close to Paul.

Blaisdell shook his head. It was clearly vexing the police captain, along with Kermit.

"Maybe we should talk to the prisoners again," Kermit said, rubbing his hands together.

"And what do you think you'll get from them that we didn't get with the last interrogation?"

Kermit gave Paul a wicked grin. "Just leave me alone with one of them for five minutes and he'll be telling us everything we want to know."

Paul sighed. "Kermit, those days are in the past. Today, we do things by the book."

Kermit cleared his voice in irritation. "Do you actually believe they arrived right before us and found their comrades dead with no idea of how it happened?"

"We have to go with known facts. Right now, we can't even tell how those men died."

"Nicky Elder will find it."

"Yes, but that's for another day. First things first. We have to find Peter and Tommy before anything else is done."

"Agreed."

Strenlich called Paul into the dining room. "Captain, do you want me to bag this as evidence or just clean it up. I've already taken some video of the scene."

As Paul knelt down, looking at the blood, Strenlich muttered, "There's a lot of blood here. If it's all Peter's, he can't be doing too well."

"Never underestimate Peter's tenacity," Paul said as he stood. "Bag what evidence you find here. We may need it later on."

Celeste limped her way into the room, surprising both Paul and Frank. She made a soft moan and nearly passed out when she saw the blood on the floor.

"Mr. Crowfoot, we could use your help here," Paul said as he caught Celeste and carried her back into the living room.

"Wh-what the hell happened?" Ansel said angrily, but his voice was tempered by fear for his niece.

"She saw blood on the floor and passed out, I guess from fear for Tommy and Peter."

"Ah, dammit, that's just what she didn't need to see."

"Keep her in there while we clean up in here," Paul ordered.

Soon, a crew of four people made the room presentable again, but Celeste had come to in the interim, because Paul could hear her crying from the living room, making Paul deeply regret his decision to bring civilians into this situation.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Meanwhile, as the snow storm eased off, and Strenlich had his teams canvassing the area in an organized search grid, watching out for the booby-traps and shelters as Ansel had described. They eventually found Peter's marker, looking inside the shelter to see a small supply of food, water, weapons, all weather gear, such as the down sleeping bags and first aid supplies...and more dried blood.

"I do believe both Kermit and Ansel must have received their Eagle Scout badges at a very young age," he said as he contacted Paul via walkie-talkie.

As time went on, Blaisdell's teams kept calling in. Nothing about Peter or Tommy, but with more reports of dead hit men. Dead men without a mark on them. Paul wondered if there was a mass murderer on the premise, someone playing out a morbid killing spree. Maybe with a fast-acting poison or unknown toxin. The fear grew even stronger when he realized the same man could go after Peter and Tommy just as easily.

_'Damn, Celeste's dream. She said there was another danger beyond the hit men. That must be it. Whatever 'it' is...'_

"Frank, do you see any tracks leading away from the shelter?" Paul asked.

Ansel was adamant about the instructions he had given to Peter and Tommy. The old man came up to Paul to remind him again, "If anything happened, they were to go to one of the shelters or make for the canoes at the creek."

"Yes, sir. It's faint, but it looks like they were heading down hill."

Paul bit his lip as hope flared. Down hill meant they were headed to the canoes. He prayed they had made it that far, at least far enough to escape further danger.

"Okay, Frank, direct your teams down to the creek. Call me when you get there. If there's a canoe missing, we can assume Peter and Tommy left by water."

"On our way. Will report as soon as we get there."

Paul stepped away from the radio setup and walked to a window, looking out at the idyllic snowy landscape. Peter and Tommy had to be found alive. Anything else was simply unacceptable.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Peter awakened to find Tommy beside him inside a cave, tied up once again. There was a big fire burning and he'd been out long enough for his outer clothes to begin to dry. Then he noticed Big Foot bringing in more wood and water.

When he saw Peter was awake, he started rambling, "You know you didn't have to run away, mister. I was going to help you. I didn't have to help, but I was going to. You made me mad when you started to run. I don't like it when people make me angry. I can't help what I do when I'm like that."

He hung his head for a moment. "People who make me angry cause me to do bad things."

Peter swallowed, trying to clear the raspiness and trembling in his voice due to his weakness and fever. "Sorry about that. We-We had some dangerous men following us...didn't want to get you hurt."

"I've handled dangerous men before. I got you, didn't I? But the boy came freely to me, making sure that you were okay."

He paused in front of Peter. "Is there something wrong with him? He doesn't talk."

Peter nodded his head slightly, the tiniest of movement caused a wave of vertigo and nausea to wash over him. "He's a mute. And my hearing is bad...because of an attack. Talk directly to me or put it down on paper."

Big Foot rocked back on his feet. "You guys really have been through it. I've got some paper and a pencil around here somewhere. Don't worry, I'll protect you. I know I don't look like someone you can trust, but you can. Unless you make me mad, then I do crazy things. That's why I live in this cave, away from the rest of the world, so I won't hurt anybody again."

The word "again" resonated in Peter's thoughts. _'Shit, we've got a psycho on our hands.'_

Peter paused for a moment, remembering the conversation at the Whitehorse's store. How many had turned up missing? Three men...or was it four? This guy had all the makings for being the source of the mysterious murders and disappearances.

Peter's brain was muddled with illness, along with worry over Tommy as he tried to figure some way out of their present situation. Big Foot continued to talk, almost like he was talking to himself. "I'm making us some squirrel stew for dinner. It's one of my favorites."

Peter smiled and bit his lip as he thought about their squirrely host. They had to get away and fast, but Peter had no idea of how to make that happen. He would just have to grab the opportunity when the moment arose. Though, at that very moment, he could barely keep his eyes open. Despite his fight to stay alert, he drifted back into unconsciousness.

**oOoOoOoOo**

When Peter regained consciousness later on, he heard Big Foot reading to Tommy. "This one I wrote a long time ago."

Tommy looked panicked as the big man sat beside him and began to read nonsense to him. Big Foot didn't seem to notice Tommy's rigid stance as he finished by saying, "Hope, kid, that's all we have at times. Remember that and you'll do okay in life," the big guy said.

Peter shook his head. The man had brief moments of clarity. Peter prayed the clarity would remain until they made good their escape. Looking to Big Foot again, Peter didn't hold out much hope, but hope was all they had, as the big man had just told Tommy.

Yet, hope seemed like an unrealistic fairy tale as he fell unconscious again.

**oOoOoOoOo**

The next time Peter awakened, he was lying on his back on a disgustingly smelly animal pelt used as a rug. The only saving grace of the cave was the fire burning, warming the constant chill in his bones.

Tommy was still beside him, holding the knapsack and the cane, but neither of them were tied up any longer. Peter exchanged wary glances with Tommy regarding the cane in his hand and Tommy slipped the cane to Peter's side just before their guard turned around.

Big Foot saw that Peter was awake and ladled some stew into a bowl for Peter, bringing it over to him. Peter accepted it as he gingerly sat up and leaned against a wall for support.

"Smells good," he said, stirring the soup with his spoon. "What's your name?"

The question seemed to make the big man nervous. "George. My name is George. I used to have a last name, but it's been so long...I forget what it is."

"Don't worry about it, George. Just grateful for you to be here. Very grateful." Peter did his best to get in good with George until their window of opportunity popped up.

George behaved himself for a few hours, and then he told Tommy to do something and Tommy didn't do it right away. He slapped the boy, and then regretted his action, saying he was only teasing, but the red hand mark on Tommy's face was more than teasing.

Peter clutched the cane, fighting the urge to shoot George where he stood.

"George, please," Peter said, slowly sliding himself between the boy and George. "The boy just lost his parents. Killed right in front of him. Please don't hit him, not even in teasing. The kid has been through hard times."

Peter's words seem to get through to George and he nodded, bending down to Tommy's eye level. "I'm sorry. I promise I won't hit you again, okay?"

Peter scooped Tommy into his arms as quickly as his injuries permitted and hugged him for a long moment, whispering into his ear. "You'll be okay. Together, we'll get out of here."

The feverish trembling in Peter's body hit suddenly zapped his strength and his vision went gray, along with fearsome waves of vertigo caused from his movements. He managed to set Tommy down beside him, keeping one hand on the boy's shoulder as he whispered, "I think I'm gonna..."

He slumped over, but he was already out before his torso hit the ground.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Tommy was worried about Peter. If something bad happened to Peter, he'd be stuck with George. Even as a kid, Tommy knew George was a crazy man. And a crazy man had killed his parents, but he wasn't going to kill Peter, not while Tommy was still around to keep him safe. The boy fiddled with Ansel's cane after Peter had passed out again, holding it anxiously, but he wasn't sure if he could actually use it.

When George had gone out to check his traps, he warned Tommy, "I will be watching the cave, so don't even think of leaving. That would make me very angry. Very angry."

Then he left them alone. Tommy pulled out his water-logged book on "The Spirit of the Forest". He turned to a section where they mentioned the ancient phrases used to invoke the Forest spirit for protection.

He scooted closer to Peter and touched his forehead. His friend's skin was so hot, and Peter was shaking and murmuring as if he were caught up in another dream. Tommy didn't know what else to do, but to call for the Forest spirit to come and save them again. This time he was asking for protection from only one man, namely George.

He started reading the words aloud, and brought a hand to his throat. It felt so strange to be speaking again, but he didn't let that distract him. He continued with the summoning prayer until it was done.

He thought about the majestic forest surrounding them as he continued to pray to the Spirits for help. He imagined ancient Indian ceremonies paying homage and respect to the Spirit of the Forest, who could be both a friend or a dangerous adversary to an enemy of the people.

Tommy prayed to the Great Spirits, prayed like he'd never prayed before, even though he didn't have any sage to burn or pollen to offer to the four corners as he said his prayers. "Please bring the Spirit of the Forest to save us one more time. Peter is so sick and this man will kill us without your help."

Once done, he then lay down next to Peter, hoping the Forest spirit heard him. Otherwise, Peter wasn't going to live very long. And he was too scared to think about his own survival with crazy George, if Peter was gone.

Tommy didn't know what was happening outside the cave, as the mists started forming, growing dense within seconds.

**oOoOoOoOo**


	23. Chapter 23

1

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

"The Quiet Gives Way to Sound"

Peter grabbed Tommy's arm when he woke suddenly, seeing that they were alone. "Where's George?"

Tommy gestured as if picking up wood.

Peter sighed. Every movement seemed to be such an effort for Peter. "Tommy, promise me you will get away if you get a chance. George is sick and I don't...I don't want him hurting you. Got it?"

Even that small speech taxed Peter's meager resources, but at least his hearing was steadily returning. Tommy resisted Peter's instructions. Peter squeezed the boy's arm more tightly. "This isn't a request. It's an order, sport."

Sighing deeply with a hint of tears in his eyes, Tommy nodded in agreement.

"Good job...you're a...good kid."

Peter faded away again with those last words.

Tommy bit his lip and brushed his hand over Peter's forehead, wishing there was something he could do to help the man who had risked his life to save his. The only thing he could do was pray.

He opened his book and repeated the prayer for the Forest spirit again. This time, he saw mists had started to form outside the cave and he was encouraged. He shook Peter's arm, bringing him back from oblivion, and pointed. Bleary-eyed, Peter saw the mists and understood their significance. "Okay, let's give this a try. Give me Ansel's cane."

Somehow, he got on his feet and they were just outside the cave's entrance when George appeared. Peter shoved Tommy forward. "Tommy, run for the canoe. Run, and don't come back!"

Peter turned to place himself between George and Tommy, bracing himself a fight he knew he would lose, but he was going for it any way. Every second counted in giving Tommy enough time to get away.

George nearly roared with rage, and like a bear, simply swatted Peter aside with one paw, causing Peter to hit a rock wall. He crumpled to the ground as George turned his attention to Tommy.

Peter shook his head to push away the beckoning call of unconsciousness and aimed Ansel's cane at the big man.

The only problem was his hands were shaking badly and he was seeing double and triple images, so he closed one eye and prayed his only shot would hit George and incapacitate him.

Peter wiped the sweat from his eyes and fired. George grabbed at his shoulder, but kept after Tommy.

"Dammit," Peter muttered. He'd been aiming for a head shot.

Looking to George's steady pace in following Tommy, he tried to distract the big man.

"GEORGE!" Peter shouted, "Get your crazy ass back over here right now!"

Either George didn't hear him or didn't bother to acknowledge Peter's taunt. Instead, he kept heading toward the creek and Tommy. Hitting the rock wall felt like Peter had broken something inside of him, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was Tommy. He forced himself to his feet and made a few wobbling steps before he fell face first into the snow.

As his consciousness faded away, he watched a huge black raven and an even larger eagle swoop down attacking George. The attack was continued by a diving crow. A deer came barreling into the water from the woods with its antlers stopping George in his tracks, just as a scurrying badger and a raccoon tripped up George's feet and the big man went down hard, but kept moving. There was the lonesome howls of a pack of wolves on the move and George looked very nervous, especially when it was followed by a fearsome growl of a bear.

Then George disappeared into the mists, just as Tommy had done. Tommy was on his own now and there was nothing Peter could do about it as the two vanished into the haze of snow and misty fog.

Peter stretched out a hand, trying to get up, but all he did was collapse back to the ground, unconscious once again.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Strenlich brought Paul up to date as the police captain joined their search. "See, Captain, there's just one canoe missing. Peter and Tommy must have used it to escape. All of the teams are canvassing both sides of the creek, along with fly-bys with the copter."

Paul looked down and found another one of the wooden carvings. This one had a tiger on it. He held the token as if it was very precious. And to him, it was. Because it had to be from Peter, leaving them a sign that they had left by water. He nodded to Strenlich to continue ahead.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Inside Ansel's cabin, Kermit watched one sheriff's deputy with wary trepidation. It was because of the undue interest the man seemed to be showing in Celeste. The deputy didn't like it one bit that Kermit had his Desert Eagle sitting on his lap as Kermit rested in a recliner with his leg elevated.

"How long have you served with the Sheriff's office," Kermit asked, appearing to be making small talk.

The man shrugged. "Not long. I just transferred here from another district."

"Oh, where was that? I know most of this country like the back of my hand," Kermit lied with an innocent smile.

For the briefest of instances, the deputy's gaze narrowed, and it wasn't out of kindness toward Kermit.

"Canyon County," he replied briskly as he began to pace.

"Canyon County. That's pretty country, but then so is this area."

Kermit eyed the man's name tag. "LeVoy? Is that how you pronounce that name?"

Again, there was the briefest flash of hostility that crossed over the man's eyes before he answered. "Yes, that's right."

The average soul probably would have never seen the subtle telling signs from the deputy's body language, but Kermit had. "That's a bit unusual. Is it French?"

The man sighed and nodded again. Kermit smiled to himself. He was getting to him and that was exactly what he wanted to do. To push the man to the edge of his control, forcing him to make a wrong move. And Kermit would be ready for him when he did.

"What kind of name is Kermit?" the deputy asked snidely.

"It's a family name. Hey, I didn't choose it. Mom and Dad did. Stuck me with this thing..."

He stared at the man's constant shifting gaze from Celeste to the cellar door. "You look a bit antsy, LeVoy. How about a cup of coffee? I'll take over the watch if you want to take a break." Kermit sounded sincerely concerned about the deputy, just as he had planned.

"Yeah, yeah, maybe I will take a break."

Kermit glanced out the windows and saw the mists moving in again. "Maybe a stroll outside would do you a world of good."

"Okay, I won't be more than five minutes."

"Sure, sure, take your time."

Ansel held onto Celeste when the deputy's screams filled the air a few moments later. Kermit limped to the front door, but couldn't see a thing, but there was something he was sure of. The assassin in a deputy's uniform was now dead like most of his comrades, and probably the missing deputy he'd been impersonating.

Kermit sighed and returned to his recliner. Now he could really relax.

**oOoOoOoOo**

When Paul and the others arrived, they found Peter face down in the snow barely moving.

Paul turned him over and Peter groaned loudly. Paul bit his lip as he saw how badly hurt Peter was. His face was a mess of bruises and swellings, along with a gash along his left temple that appeared to have reopened and his body had a significant tremor.

He pulled off a glove and put his hand to Peter's face, and was shocked by the fire radiating from Peter's skin. No wonder he was in a semiconscious state. Peter kept murmuring, "Run, Tommy, run!"

There were other indecipherable words mixed in telling Paul that Peter wasn't talking to the people around him, but to the images in his feverish mind.

Paul patted Peter on the cheek. "Peter, Peter, it's Paul. Can you hear me?"

When Peter didn't respond, he patted his cheek harder and repeated his words. Peter's eyes flashed open, startling Paul, but Peter's gaze was wild and unfocused. Paul kept his hand to Peter's heated skin and continued talking to him. "Peter, it's Paul. We are with you at the creek. Where is Tommy?"

Peter blinked a few times, trying to focus on Paul's face, but gave up closing his eyes again. "Tommy..." he rasped.

Paul moved closer, raising Peter so that he could hold him in his arms. "Yes, Peter, Tommy...where is he?"

Peter's expression became tortured with pain and guilt. "George went after him...I tried to follow but couldn't...I-I don't know where Tommy is...We were supposed to stay together...supposed to stay together," he whispered between gasps for air.

Tears fell from tightly squeezed eyes as he curled up against Paul. His body was shaking so badly that Paul tightened his grip on Peter. "Hang in there, Peter. We will find Tommy. Strenlich is here and Kermit is with Ansel and Celeste at the cabin."

Peter breathed a sigh of relief that quickly disappeared. Peter put a shaky hand to Paul's chest. "Find him. Find him before George hurts him. They were headed downstream."

Paul leaned closer and asked, "George? Who is George?"

Peter became unresponsive again. Paul thought he'd passed out when Peter whispered, "Big Foot."

Then Peter's body went limp in Paul's hold. Paul looked up to Strenlich, knowing his expression conveyed his worry and fears for Peter and Tommy.

"Find that George and bring Tommy back to me."

"Yes, sir," Strenlich said as he began to move.

"Frank?"

The Chief of Detectives turned back to Paul. "Yes, sir?"

"Find them quickly."

Frank nodded and ordered his teams downstream. Glancing around, he sniffed the air and headed toward the opening of a cave. "Paul, this must be where George lives."

Paul watched as Strenlich pulled his gun and cautiously entered the cave. A few moments later, he exited from the opening. "Why don't we bring Peter inside? At least it's warm and dry. Water and food, too."

Paul exhaled with gratitude. Together, the two men carried Peter's unconscious body into the cave, setting him down by the burning fire. Then Strenlich left to be with his search teams.

Blaisdell put another log on the fire and quickly stripped off Peter's soggy clothing, leaving him in his underwear, and then heaped animal skins over him, tucking him in as best as possible. He found a rag and some water, dampening the rag before placing it over Peter's fiery forehead.

Rubbing the back of his fingers along Peter's jaw line, he said, "Peter, you just hang in there. You are going to survive this. You aren't allowed to die, you hear me? You are going to make it through all of this."

Seeing fresh and dried blood on Peter's face and other wounds, Paul took another rag and wiped away as much blood as he could from the various cuts, especially from his nose and ears. They were obvious symptoms of a concussion. A bad one from the looks of things.

"What did you suffer in trying to save Tommy Hills," he asked softly before settling in place beside his son.

He took Peter's limp hand in his, feeling to need to keep a constant contact with Peter. The moments dragged on with no word from Frank and no sign of consciousness from Peter. It seemed like time had just stopped, leaving him alone and helpless to assist his very ill son.

**oOoOoOoOo**


	24. Chapter 24

1

**Chapter Twenty-four**

"Rescue"

Frank had the helicopter land so he could direct activities from the air search. Not long after they were airborne again, one of the men in the cockpit called out. "I've got one heat signature in the woods at 10 o'clock. It's faint, but I read it clearly."

Strenlich nearly shouted with relief. "Take us to the position and lower us down far enough for me to get out."

The pilot didn't like the idea. "The woods are too dense along that portion of the creek. We'll barely have enough room to clear them. You would have to jump into the creek and go from there on foot."

"Agreed. Let's do it."

They passed the search teams on foot and Strenlich radioed to them that they had a possible location on Tommy. He smiled as he saw them pick up their pace. He glanced around to the grim faces aboard the copter and he paused. The proposed landing spot was apparently much tighter than the pilot had indicated.

Frank braced himself as they slowly lowered over the creek.

"Go now! With these winds, I can only stay a moment."

"Got it. We will rendezvous with you at a place where you can set down safely."

The pilot nodded and Frank leapt from the helicopter, landing in the water ten feet below the departing chopper. The rotors stirred up snow, water, and debris. For a moment, all Frank could do was cover his eyes with both hands.

When things settled down, he headed in the direction of the sighted location only to find Tommy walking out to him. He rushed to the child's side. "Are you okay, Tommy? I'm here to help. We are going to take you to your aunt very soon."

Tommy nodded. The boy was shivering from exposure to the elements, but there was a determined glint to his silver eyes. "But first, take me to Peter," he said simply.

Frank was taken aback by the fact Tommy was talking. Everything he'd heard said Tommy was a mute and barely responsive to the outside world. Strenlich stammered, "You-you don't want to go to your aunt?"

Tommy shook his head. "Peter needs me. We are supposed to stay together no matter

what."

"Okay, if that's what you want, kid, we'll go back to the cave and Peter until we can arrange transport back the cabin."

Tommy nodded and started walking upstream.

Strenlich stood in disbelief for a moment before he hurried to catch up to Tommy.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Peter began to hallucinate, struggling against Paul's hold as he tried to keep Peter from hurting himself. Peter caught Paul in the right eye with a flailing fist, staggering him for a moment. In that moment, Peter managed to throw off the animal skins and started crawling toward the entrance to the cave.

Paul recovered and scurried after his delirious son. He grasped Peter around the waist and stopped his escape without too much effort, but then Peter became a wild man, whipping his arms around in self-defense. Paul barely managed to miss them this time.

He shouted, "PETER!"

His voice reverberated in the medium-sized cave and it was enough to pull Peter back to reality. His kneeling body fell back to the ground, exhausted and limp. Paul crawled to Peter's head, seeing his face was streamed with sweat and tears.

"I thought George had Tommy," Peter whispered as he gasped for air.

"No, Peter, I just got word that Tommy has been found, safe and sound."

Peter's face lit up with that announcement and he sighed with the release of a great burden. "Thank God. Thank God," Peter repeated as his voice grew weaker.

His body trembled with spent adrenaline. Paul took Peter's head and shoulders into his arms, wrapping them around Peter's chest from the back. He rocked with his son, and rubbed his arms to take away part of the chill.

"I thought Tommy was going to die when he disappeared into the mists," Peter whispered between gasps of air.

"Well, he didn't. And the search teams are still looking for George. All you need to concern yourself with is getting better. How in the hell did you manage to get so banged up?" he asked, but he already knew most of the answers. He just wanted to keep Peter talking or the young man might pass out on him again.

Peter smiled weakly. "It wasn't really that hard to do," he whispered.

"Oh yeah?" Paul questioned. "Well, it looks pretty painful to me."

Peter shook his head. "No, seeing George going after Tommy when all I could do was pass out, that was the worst of it all."

Paul tightened his embrace as he said, "Well, Tommy's safe now. You can relax."

"Yeah, but how much...damage will this do to him?" Peter asked, his expression haunted.

Paul helped Peter move back to the bearskin rug and then covered him again with the other animal skins he'd found inside the cave.

A medic arrived, carrying an armload of equipment as he entered the cave, apparently summoned by Strenlich. Nodding to Paul, he sat down his equipment and began opening plastic-covered items he'd be needing, ready to begin his work.

"How are you doing, bud?" the EMT asked.

Peter shrugged.

"What's your name?" the medic asked as he took Peter's blood pressure and pulse.

"Peter."

"Peter what?"

"Peter Matthew Caine, okay?" he responded gruffly.

"Well, Peter, tell me your symptoms."

Peter sighed and Paul reluctantly released his grip on Peter's hand to allow the medic to work.

Just then, Strenlich walked into the cave with Tommy in his arms. The boy jumped out of Frank's hold and rushed to Peter's side. Tommy ignored everyone but Peter. With great enthusiasm, he showed Peter the carved wolf token.

Peter took the token from him and smiled at it, a symbol of a much more idyllic time. The smile slowly grew to include Tommy, too. He hugged Tommy as tightly as he could with one arm as tears formed in his eyes.

The medic on the other side of Peter said with exasperation, "Can't the reunion be done later? We've got a pretty sick patient here."

Peter flashed him a look of irritation. "In a minute. This boy helped to keep me alive. I would have been dead long ago without his efforts."

The medic frowned and grumbled, "Just stay still for a moment. I've got to start an I.V. and I can't do that with you moving around."

Ignoring the medic, Peter turned his head back to see Tommy's glowing expression. "Did the wolf token keep you safe?" Peter asked, sighing with relief as he held a trembling hand to the child's angelic face.

Tommy shook his head.

"No?" Peter asked, slightly surprised.

"Who then?" he asked cautiously, knowing there was another answer judging by Tommy's serious expression. The boy stared deeply in Peter's eyes. Their unique conduit was established again, and the rest of the world seemed to fade away until there was just Tommy and Peter.

There was a hint of pride in the boy's eyes when he said, "The Spirit of the Forest."

Peter's mouth dropped open. "Tommy, you're talking!"

The medic cursed and pulled Peter back down as he put the end of a stethoscope to Peter's chest. Paul helped hold him down, but was mesmerized by the interactions between the boy and Peter.

"Keep him still," the medic told Paul. "He's lost a lot of blood."

Nodding grimly, Paul answered, "Yes, he has."

"Well, his vitals are low enough to require a second line," the medic said as he moved around to Peter's other arm, silently nudging Tommy aside. "It will also help to manage his fever somewhat. It's so high I'm surprised he hasn't gone into seizures."

All of the conversation going on around them was oblivious to Peter and Tommy.

Tommy scrabbled around to the spot the medic had just vacated and leaned closer to Peter's face, smiling brightly before he started his explanation.

"The Spirit of the Forest healed me, just like he kept you from any more harm, Peter. The Great Spirits saved our lives. We need to make an offering to them in gratitude for honoring their vow."

"That's what the book said to do," Peter whispered as he pulled Tommy into a cautious one-arm embrace. He looked deeply into Tommy's eyes. "You sure you're okay?"

"Hey, hey, watch that I.V. line, buddy," the medic complained.

Peter released Tommy, but moved to take Tommy's hand in his.

Tommy just kept talking to Peter as if they were back at the cabin, sitting in the living room in front of a big fire in the fireplace. "Yes, Peter, I'm really better. The spirit man helped me hide until it was safe."

"The spirit...Oh, man...do you mean George! No, sport, he's-"

"No, not him. George is dead, I know that. I was talking about the Spirit in the Forest guy. The one we read about in my book! He's real, Peter, and he was very nice for a spirit guy. He showed me where to hide and told me not to move til he came back for me. I trusted him. He moved into the mists, and then I could hear George screaming and screaming. After a few minutes, the spirit guy came back to me and told me I was safe and that help was coming for me."

No one said anything, not even the medic as he paused from his work for a moment. It seemed like everyone in the room was worried about the traumatized boy.

"Captain, I think there's something you should see out there," Frank said quietly.

Paul reluctantly left Peter and Tommy in the hands of the medic and a deputy. Frank led him a distance away from the cave and showed him a dead body that was presumed to be the man called George.

"He's dead, sir, but there wasn't a mark on him, nor were there any footprints leading to his body except George's own tracks. Just like the dead hit men we found on Crowfoot's property."

There was a group of the search teams that joined them, obviously unnerved by something. They followed Frank and Paul as they walked back in the direction the teams had just come, following the curves of the creek, and then Frank stopped again.

"This is where Tommy was hiding."

Paul's mouth dropped open because there was only one set of footprints in the snow...One set in the whole area...and they could only be Tommy's tracks because of the tiny footprint. Silently, Paul wondered if Tommy had a hand in George's death.

The boy had perked up when he was with Peter, but could he have been so traumatized by the frightening situation that he unknowingly shifted the blame away from him and said a spirit did the killing. The big hole in Paul's theory was how did the boy do it without leaving a mark on George's body or any footprints in the snow around him.

Paul was silent as they retraced their steps again, trying to reconstruct the murder, but Paul had a strange feeling that they were just spinning their wheels.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Meanwhile back in the cave, Tommy was telling Peter more about his encounter with 'the Spirit of the Forest'.

"You know, Peter, he didn't even have to talk with his mouth...I 'heard' him in my head."

Peter knew his expression showed how concerned he was becoming for the boy, but Tommy kept talking. Apparently, with the return of his speech, there was no shutting him up, not that Peter would even consider it.

Tommy placed his beloved book into Peter's hands. "He said to tell Aunt Celeste that I do have the heart of the wolf spirit and it is no miracle that I am who I am. The wolf spirit is a part of me...because it's a part of Aunt Celeste, too."

Peter began to explain to Tommy that the book wasn't real, that it just wasn't possible when Paul, Frank, and the others returned white-faced.

Peter tensed at the sight. "Paul, what is it?"

Paul had an expression of utter disbelief. "We saw this huge...creature floating across the small clearing from where we were standing. I thought the man might be a material witness, so we called to him and took off running after him. Suddenly, the being stopped and smiled at us briefly before it disappeared in a sudden cloud of misty fog."

Peter stared at Paul with equal disbelief, still holding Tommy's book in his hands.

Paul continued on, "Then the sound of distant Indian chants and beating drums broke through the silence like a string of cannon blasts. The locals insist they had already secured the area. No one was allowed in or out. And that knowledge has the deputies scared shitless."

Peter sat up a little more. "Why?"

The local sheriff deputies' faces were paler than anyone else's as Paul explained. "Because they knew the local Indians hadn't performed any ceremonial activities in that area for many years. Yet, we could hear them. The chants and the drums."

"Peter, I went to where the man had stopped. There wasn't a single footprint in the snow. Nothing to even show the being had ever been there. Something as large as that would have left some sign."

Tommy simply smiled at Peter as he took the book from Peter's hands and put it back into his jacket pocket. For the first time in a long while, he put a hand to Peter's heart and raised Peter's hand to his heart, doing so with love and caring, as if to show the ache wasn't as strong as it had once been.

He leaned down to Peter and whispered. "It does get better, doesn't it?"

"It sure does, Tommy. It sure does." Peter nodded with a big smile as Tommy hugged him once again. Peter's attention turned back to the others. The legend of the Spirit of the Forest apparently just received new fuel to keep it going for a long while.

Paul rubbed a finger along his chin before he began to issue orders. "Come on, let's get Peter and Tommy into the humvee and back to the cabin. Is he ready to be moved?" Paul asked of the medic at Peter's side.

"As ready as he'll be until we get him to a hospital." The medic's blue eyes met Paul's silently telling him Peter needed to be in the hospital as quickly as possible.

Paul slapped his hands together. "Okay, people, let's get them loaded. Frank, order the helicopter meet us at the cabin."

At least there was something within his power to do, rather than dealing with the worried helplessness he felt over Peter's numerous injuries or the mysterious creature that left no tracks whatsoever in the snow.

**oOoOoOoOo**


	25. Chapter 25

1

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

"The Magic Lingers"

Skalany called Paul and the group while they were still at the cabin. "It's seems the mighty Wilson Cooper Clark killed his son and then himself when the news started televising stories of a dramatic mountain rescue."

"Shit," Kermit said.

"What?" Paul asked.

"Now we've got another goddamned leak!"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"The press, Sandra Mason has gotten to somebody."

"Well, that's the least of our worries, especially now that Celeste and Tommy doesn't have to worry about testifying against Delmar Clark anymore. Saved the court system a bundle of money for an extended trial. All we've got to do to get you and Peter well again and things will be back to normal."

Kermit grunted. "Since when are things ever normal?"

Paul laughed and patted Kermit on the back. "You know, I've really missed you two."

"Paul, we weren't gone that long."

"Just enough for me to begin to forget all of your irritating habits."

"I think I'll enjoy riding back in the helicopter with Peter instead of with you. At least with Peter, I get a certain level of respect."

"Just get that leg looked at and I'll be off your back."

Paul stopped and grunted.

"What is it?"

"It's Christmas morning, Kermit. With all the drama, I simply forgot about it. Merry Christmas, my friend."

"Yeah, Merry Christmas to you, too, Paul. For all that it's worth."

"Am I looking at Ebenezer Scrooge in the flesh?" Paul asked with a taunt echoing in his voice.

"Bah, humbug," Kermit growled. "You know I never get into the holidays."

"Yes, Scrooge, I know that. Peter tells me him and Tommy were working on carved tokens for gifts for the group at the cabin. In the end, they wound up saving their lives."

"Sharing gifts with friends and family is all fine and well, Paul, but it's not the true essence of Christmas. At least not to me."

"No, you are quite right," Paul said, letting his hands sink down into the depths of his jacket. "It's the magic of love shared between family and friends, not the giving of gifts. I think we all felt that today when Tommy was reunited with his family."

"And Peter?"

"Peter will have the nurses at the hospital eating out of the palm of his hand. Plus there's been a change in him. The anger that was there before he left for this assignment seems nonexistent. As if being with Tommy cured a wound Peter didn't know he was holding inside."

Kermit played devil's advocate. "Peter still could have died several times over."

"But he didn't and maybe that's my Christmas gift. Having Peter still in my life with all of his aggravations and irritations, along with that bottomless well of love he has."

"Come on, Paul. You're getting nostalgic. Load Peter into the chopper and I'll ride in with him. Hell, I don't envy you the write up on this report. It's gonna take every bit of your finesse to present it without sounding like you're a prime candidate for the looney bin."

Paul laughed out loud and shook his head, glancing to Celeste, Ansel, and Tommy. "You're probably right..."

"What is it, Paul?"

Paul stared again at the Crowfoot family. "Maybe they are another Christmas miracle unfolding. Torn apart by tragedy, yet healed by the struggle to stay alive. In the end, they were made much stronger by surviving it together."

"I can't argue with you on that point. They are different people than when I first met them."

"Okay, I think the chopper is almost ready for you. Call Annie for me when you get a chance and tell her I'll be home as soon as I can."

"Will do. Anything else?"

"Just watch yourself. I'm damned grateful that you survived another battle relatively intact, my old friend."

"Better than intact. These people weren't the only ones healed by these forests."

When Paul started to ask why, Kermit put up a hand. "Let's just leave it at that."

"Fine."

Kermit was almost to the front door when Celeste stopped him. Tommy was beside her. The boy handed him one of their animal tokens they'd made. It was a fox token. Celeste spoke up, "I've always said Uncle Ansel has the spirit of a fox. Since you two were so alike, Tommy thought you might like one of these fox tokens to take as a memento."

"Thanks, Tommy, Celeste. I'll keep it close to my heart."

Tommy beamed with pride and then bolted outside. Kermit knew where he was going. To see Peter one last time, following in Paul's footsteps. Kermit was still staring out the door when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Turning, he saw Celeste was still beside him. He smiled, but she was hesitating in saying whatever she wanted to say, so he spoke instead. "You know, except for getting shot, this was almost like a vacation."

"Vacation," Celeste repeated incredulously. "Yes, it is eerie how much you and Ansel have in common."

Holding up his token, Kermit chuckled and said, "It's the fox spirit in us."

He started to step away again when she stopped him. "Kermit, I never thanked you for taking that bullet for me. That damned pride of mine..."

Kermit pulled off his sunglasses. "You were worried about Tommy. Besides, this is nothing," he said as he pointed to his leg wound.

"Nothing? You saved my life."

"That's why this wound is nothing. If Tommy was to lose you now after all of his other losses, well, that would have been a wound that time could never heal. I've taken bullets in the line of duty before. You're a civilian and you've already known enough pain to last a lifetime. Forget about it."

Kermit started to leave again when Celeste reached forward and kissed him on the cheek. Her lips lingered there as she whispered, "I think I've just found the chink in your armor, Kermit. Both of you and Ansel have a heart of gold buried underneath your gruff exterior."

Kermit stared at her for a moment before he winked at her. Afterwards, he put his glasses back on and left without another word.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Tommy darted toward the medical helicopter, seeing that they were still treating Peter and that Paul, one of Peter's fathers, had beat him to Peter's side. He could see firsthand the love Peter had felt for his second father. Tommy paused at the door, allowing them a close moment as they spoke quietly.

"You know, I half-expected to see Pop sliding around in the shadows, taking out those men."

"That would be an easier explanation that what I'm going to have to come up with in my report," Paul said sarcastically.

Peter sighed. "Sorry, but Pop is nowhere to be seen."

"Peter, are you still upset about Caine's absence?"

Peter shook his head in response to Blaisdell's question, his eyes focused on a distant point outside the window.

"No. Somehow, I know he's been with me...in my heart. I'm not very good at the mystical side of being Shaolin, but I do know he's been close to me. I've felt his love and probably his chi to help me get through this."

Peter sighed with a contented air about him as he went on to say, "For now, that is all I need to know."

Paul chewed on his lower lip for a moment before saying, "You just sounded an awful lot like your father."

Peter's serene expression grew with a hint of mischief flavoring his countenance as his hazel eyes met Paul's, "Remember, Dad, I have two very wise fathers. Now, just which father did you mean?"

Paul's eyes shimmered with pride and he brushed the hair from Peter's eyes, kissing him on the temple. "I love you, son."

"And I love you."

"Have a safe trip in."

Paul looked down and saw Tommy standing beside him.

"Tommy, it's awfully cold out here. Are you sure you don't want to go back inside?"

Peter put a hand to Paul's arm and shook his head. "Tommy, you want to climb inside here?"

Tommy nodded and Paul helped him to reach Peter's side. The medic was stilling fiddling with Peter's IVs, injecting something into one and then checking his readings again.

The boy looked at the EMT. "Are you almost done?" Tommy asked innocently.

The medic grunted. "We won't be done until this guy is in the hospital where he belongs."

Peter made a face and Tommy giggled as a fellow conspirator.

The medic glared at the two of them. "No fun is allowed while I'm working." And then, he winked. "You can have him for five minutes, then he's mine all the way to the hospital."

Tommy smiled with appreciation flashing in his eyes as he scooted close to Peter. "Do you feel better now?"

Peter nodded. "They gave me some medicine and I do feel better."

Peter closed his eyes for a moment and sleep started pulling him away. Tommy put a hand to Peter's heart and smiled. "You're right!"

Without opening his eyes, Peter smiled. "What? Do you think I lied to you all the time?"

Tommy shook his head. "No, only when you didn't want me to know the truth."

Peter laughed, holding his side. "Busted again."

Tommy turned serious. "Will I ever see you again, Peter?"

"If your aunt does move back into the city, you will."

"Awesome!" the boy replied.

Then Tommy turned sad.

"What is it, sport?"

"Aunt Celeste says I still need to see some doctors and talk about how I feel about my mom and dad."

Peter nodded. "It won't be easy, but like the ache in your heart, it gets better. I know it will help you in a lot of ways."

"You helped me in a lot of ways. And I like you. You're my friend. Those...doctors won't feel what we felt."

"No, but they were help in their own way."

Tommy was still grim-faced, so Peter changed the subject, "Do you know where Chinatown is?"

Tommy nodded.

"I'd like you to meet my father. He's very good at helping special gifts grow. I think he could help you, too."

Tommy shrugged. "I don't need to use it as much now that I can talk again."

"You'd be surprised. Have Aunt Celeste call me when everyone is feeling better. I'll give you all a tour of Chinatown."

Tommy reached forward with his book about the Spirits of the Forest. "This is all I have to give you for saving our lives."

He handed Peter his beloved book. Peter hefted the lightweight book as tears shimmered in his eyes before handing it back to Tommy.

"Oh, no, sport. That's a family heirloom and probably the real reason why we are still alive. Never part with it, understand?"

Tommy smiled and nodded. "I'll miss you, Peter."

"So will I, but it's not forever."

Tommy's hand was still resting on his chest and Peter put out a shaky hand to Tommy's chest as Tommy said, "It adds another sadness there."

Peter leaned closer, whispering into Tommy's ear, "That's because you are only looking at the hurt, and not all of the joy and healing we've all shared in the last three weeks. If you remember the good memories first, the sadness just goes away."

Tommy hugged him. By then, Ansel was waiting for Tommy. Kermit was beside Paul, getting ready to climb inside.

"Bye, Peter. I'll never forget you!"

"And I'm sure I'll never forget you."

Tommy got out and Kermit climbed into the chopper with help from Paul, and then Ansel, Tommy, and Paul backed away as the rotors started turning.

**oOoOoOoOo**

The chopper carrying his friend and son took off and Paul watched it until it disappeared in the distance. He whispered, "Godspeed and protection on this sacred holiday."

Thinking about Christmas, his first thoughts were of gift giving, but gifts no longer held any appeal for the police captain. He'd already received his Christmas blessing. His son and friend were alive when the odds had been very much against them. Material things could never make up for that.

He turned back to the cabin as Strenlich started organizing the clean-up. Tommy and Ansel went on ahead of him, leaving him to his silent musings. Kermit had been right about one thing. Paul had one hell of a report to write and he had no idea how he was going to explain the deaths of so many of the hit men, including George. Maybe he'd leave the details to Nicky Elder.

Time to get to work, he told himself as he followed Tommy and Ansel back inside the cabin. He sat down to speak with Ansel and Celeste, with Tommy right beside her, holding his book, "The Spirit of the Forest", like it was the Holy Grail itself.

He was about to begin debriefing the witnesses when he stopped, staring at the joy on the faces of the family before him. Screw the reports, Paul thought, as he looked into Tommy's twinkling eyes. Maybe the boy did hold all the answers to the day's bizarre events in his hands.

Perhaps what Paul needed to do instead of interrogations was to just allow himself enjoy the miracle of life with the family before him. Something similar to what Peter had said earlier.

_'Don't try to make sense of it, Paul. Just enjoy the rewards.'_

Paul glanced toward the open door when he noticed the strange mists moving in again, and that distant sound of chanting and beating drums. He looked to Tommy. The boy scratched his head. "It's almost sunset, Grandfather Ansel. Shouldn't we be doing the offering and prayers now?"

"Absolutely, son. You get the offering. I'll get the sage leaves to burn."

Celeste spoke up. "Yes, I believe the sage leaves would be most appropriate and I'd like to join you two if you don't mind."

Both child and man nodded with smiles. "It would be very nice to have you with us, Little Raven."

Paul watched them when Celeste reached forward to touch his arm. "Would you like to join us in the ceremony since the Great Spirits and the Forest Spirit were so instrumental in saving Peter's life?"

"I would be honored, Miss Crowfoot."

He extended his arm as she rose awkward. The boy and his elder returned with their supplies and everyone went outside to offer a prayer of thanksgiving and appreciation for all that was done to keep them alive.

Two religions and four praying souls blended together into a single statement of gratitude and love. While they prayed, the woods around them went silent, as if honoring the sanctity of their prayers.

After a long moment, words no longer became necessary, because they became aware of a loving presence encompassing all of them. As they stood in wonder, the muted forest world suddenly came back alive with great exuberance, as if the birds and the animals were joining them in their declaration of gratitude.

Hope and joy were the only words Paul could think of with the forest's awakening. Joy for Tommy and his family. Hope for Peter and Kermit's recovery. Hope and joy for all in the coming year.

Paul smiled as he decided life does renew itself as it rises above tragedy and grief to move ahead with hope fueling its every move. He watched the others and decided he was feeling pretty renewed himself. Hope, what a precious commodity. Without hope, there could be no joy or happiness.

He turned away and headed back to the cabin and his unavoidable report, but his step was a little lighter and his thoughts were consumed with the miracle of life, instead of the burdensome job of writing his damned report.

And perhaps that was his healing in that magical forest, knowing when to rise above the mundane trappings that can bog the average person down, and simply relish the simplicity of living. Yes, gratitude for the simple act of living life on life's terms could ply its magical ways and always healed a troubled soul.

**oOoOoOoOo**

**The End**


End file.
